CIHM 

ICMH 

Microfiche 

Collection  de 

Series 

microfiches 

(IMonographs) 

(monographles) 

Canadian  Inatituta  for  Historical  Microraproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  da  microraproductiona  hittoriquaa 


1994 


TMhnieal  and  WbNofrapliie  Notn  /  Notts  tMbntqiin  M  btMiorWt>iq«Mt 


Tht  Inttitut*  hat  attamptad  to  obtain  the  Imt  original 
eopy  avatlaMa  for  f ilmint.  Faatitrai  of  this  oopy  wMeh 
may  ba  WMioflraphieally  uniqua.  which  may  altar  any 
of  tha  imafas  in  tha  raproduction.  or  whieh  may 
tiflnifieantly  chants  tha  usual  HMthod  of  filmini.  ara 

Gn#ClC90  DMOW* 


0  Coloured  eo«  jrs/ 
Couvartura  da  coulaur 


□  Covars  damaiad/ 
Couvartura 


□  Covars  rastorad  and/or  laminatsd/ 
Couvartura  rastaurte  at/ou  pallicuMa 

□  Covar  title  missing/ 
La  titra  da  couvartura  manqua 


D 


Coloursd  maps/ 

Canes  ffographiquas  en  eouleur 


0  Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  then  bhia  or  Mack)/ 
Enera  da  coulaur  (i.e.  eutre  qua  Waua  ou  noire) 

Q  Coloured  platM  end/or  illustrations/ 
Planches  et/ou  illustrations  an  coulaur 


D 


BoiHid  with  other  material/ 
RaM  avec  d'eutres  documents 


□  Ti#it  bindint  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion 
akmg  interior  mergin/ 

U  reliure  serrie  peut  causer  de  I'ombra  ou  de  la 
distorsion  le  long  de  la  marge  intirieui* 


D 


n 


Blenk  laeves  edded  during  restoration  may  ( 
within  the  text  Whenever  possible,  these  havt 
been  omitiad  from  filming/ 
II  se  peut  que  certaines  peges  Menches  ejout«es 
tors  d'unc  restauration  apparaissent  dans  le  texte. 
meis,  lorsque  cete  iteit  possible,  ces  pages  n'ont 
pas  M  fibnias. 


Additional  comments:/ 
Commenteires  tuppltaientairas: 


L'Institut  a  mierofibn*  la  maiHeur  exemplaire  qu'il 
lui  a  Mpossibia  da  se  procurer.  Las  details  de  eet 
exemplaire  qui  sont  peut-Mre  uniques  du  point  de  vue 


raproduite.  ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une  modification 

dans  la  m«thode  normala  de  f  ibnaga  sont  indiqufe 
ei-deseous. 

□  Coloured  peges/ 
Pages  de  eouleur 


n 

□  Pagn  restored  end/or  laminated/ 
Pages  restaur*as  et/ou  peWicuHes 

HPagH  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed/ 
Pages  dieolorfas.  tachatias  ou  piquies 

D 


Pages  ditaehAes 


QShowthrough/ 
Transperenoe 

□  Quality  of  print  varies/ 
Queliti  inigele  de  I'impression 

□  Continuous  peginetion/ 
Pegination  continue 

□  Includes  indexles)/ 
Comprend  un  (des)  index 

Title  on  haeder  tatwn  from:/ 
Le  titre  de  I'en-tite  provient: 

□  Title  pege  of  issue/ 
Page  de  titre  de  le  livreison 

I       j  Ception  of  issue/ 


Titre  de  dtpert  de  le  livreison 

Mesthaed/ 

G«n«rique  (piriodiques)  de  le  livraison 


j       I  Mesthaed/ 


This  item  is  filmed  et  the  reduction  retio  checked  bekMv/ 

Ce  document  est  lUmi  au  taux  de  rMuction  indique  ci-dessout. 


ItX 


12X 


ItX 


20X 


Z2X 


26X 


XX 


24X 


28X 


D 

32X 


Th«  copy  filmad  hart  hat  baan  raproducad  thankt 
to  tht  gtntrotity  of: 

National  Library  of  Canada 


L'axampiaira  film4  fut  raproduit  grica  i  la 
g4n4rotit4  dt: 

BibliothAqut  nationala  du  Canada 


Tha  imagat  appaaring  hara  ara  tlia  baat  quality 
pottibit  coniidtring  tht  condition  and  laglbility 
of  tha  original  copy  and  in  Icaaping  with  tha 
filming  contract  apacificatlont. 


Loa  Imagaa  tuh^anttt  ont  4t4  rtproduittt  avac  la 
plut  grand  toin,  eomptt  ttnu  dt  la  condition  at 
da  la  nattat*  da  Taxampiaira  film*,  at  an 
conformity  avac  lat  conditiona  du  contrat  da 
filmaga. 


Original  copiaa  In  printad  papar  covart  ara  fllmad 
baginning  with  th^  front  covar  and  anding  on 
tha  laat  paga  v.    -:     printad  or  iliuttratad  impraa- 
tion,  ortha^     .   r9var  whan  appropriata.  All 
othar  original  «opiaa  ara  filmad  baginning  on  tha 
firtt  paga  with  a  printad  or  iliuttratad  impraa- 
aion.  and  anding  on  tha  laat  paga  with  a  printad 
or  iliuttratad  imprattion. 


Laa  axamplalrat  origintux  dont  It  couvtrturt  tn 
papiar  aat  ImprimAa  tont  filmte  tn  commtnptnt 
par  la  pramiar  plat  at  an  tarminant  toit  ptr  It 
dtrniirt  paga  qui  comporta  una  tmprtlntt 
d'imprtttion  ou  dllluatrttion.  toit  ptr  It  ttcond 
plat,  ttlon  It  ctt.  Tout  Itt  tutrtt  txtmpltirtt 
origintux  tont  filmte  tn  commtnptnt  ptr  It 
prtmiirt  ptgt  qui  comportt  unt  tmprtlntt 
d'imprtttion  ou  d'illuttrttion  tt  tn  ttrmintnt  ptr 
It  dtrniirt  ptgt  qui  comportt  unt  ttllt 
tmprtlntt. 


Tht  Ittt  rtcordtd  frtmt  on  ttch  microf icht 
thtll  conttin  tht  tymbol  -^  (mttning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  tht  tymbol  ▼  (mttning  "END"), 
whichtvtr  tpplitt. 


Un  dtt  tymboitt  tuhrtntt  tpptrtttrt  tur  la 
darniirt  imaga  da  chaqua  microficha.  ttlon  it 
cat:  It  tymbolt  -^  tignifit  "A  SUIVRE".  it 
tymbolt  ▼  tignifit  "FIN". 


Mtpt,  pitttt.  chtrtt,  ttc,  mty  bt  fllmtd  tt 
difftrtnt  rtduction  rttiot.  Thott  too  Itrgt  to  bt 
tntirtly  includtd  in  ont  txpoturt  trt  fllmtd 
btginning  in  tht  upptr  Itft  htnd  eorntr,  Itft  to 
right  tnd  top  to  bottom,  tt  mtny  frtmat  tt 
rtqulrtd.  Tht  following  ditgrtmt  llluttrttt  tht 
mtthod: 


Lat  ctrttt,  pitnchtt,  ttblttux,  ttc,  ptuvtnt  Atrt 
filmte  *  dtt  ttux  dt  rMuction  diffirtntt. 
Lortqut  It  document  ttt  trop  grtnd  pour  ttrt 
raproduit  tn  un  ttui  cllcht,  11  ttt  film*  A  ptrtir 
da  I'angia  auptriaur  gaucha.  da  gauciw  i  droita, 
at  da  haut  an  iMt,  tn  prtntnt  It  nombrt 
d'imtgtt  n*cttttira.  Ltt  ditgrtmmtt  tuivtntt 
illuttrtnt  It  mtthodt. 


1 

2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

MKROCOrr  RBOWTION  TBT  CHART 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


tarn 

1^ 

liX 

l£ 

■  2.2 

Itt 

■a^ 

■■■ 

IB 
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us  1 

IZO 

■luu 

1 

M^m 

jk 


/1PPLIED  IM/OE    Ir 

1653  East  Main  Street 

Hochettef.  Neo  Yof1<       U609      USA 

(716)  482  -  0300  -  Phone 

(716)  288  -  5989  -  Fox 


^be  S>ivine  |^ur8uit 


I 


The    DIVINE 
PURSUIT 


1 


"Smr*iy  g904ln*ii 
mntt  mirtf  lAaH 
fvntvt  m*  m// tkt 
dmy  tf  mf  lift." 


■Y 


John  Edgar  McFadybn,  B.  A.(Oion.)M.A.(OlM.) 

Pr»/ttt0r  tf  Old  Tttlmmtnl  Lilirmtu  rt  mn4  KxtftO, 
Kn0jt  Ctlitgt,  Ttrtnit, 


Fleming    H.    Revell   Company 

Chicago,  New  York,  Toronto 

The  Westminster  Company  (Limited) 
Toronto 


TO 

MY  MOTHER  IN  HEAVEN 

IN  MBMORY  or 

THE  OtAD   FAITH,    THE    tWIlT    PATIKNCI, 

AND    THE    UNWAVEKINO    HOPE    OF 

ALL  HER    EARTHLY  DAYS 


preface 

This  little  group  of  meditations  makes  no  pre- 
tence to  any  special  coherence,  other  than  that  of 
a  common  relation  to  the  spiritual  life.  Some, 
however,  were  originally  written  for  special  seasons 
of  the  Christian  year;  and  adjacent  meditations 
will  sometimes  be  found  to  illustrate  complementary 
truths.  Some  were  suggested  by  exegetical  study; 
others  arose  out  of  particular  circumstances  and 
experiences.  But  all  alike  are  offered  now,  as  they 
were  originally,  simply  as  devotional  studies;  and 
they  are  sent  forth  with  the  prayer  that  they  may 
minister  to  the  deeper  life  of  those  whom  they 
may  reach. 

JOHN  E  MCFADYEN. 

Toronto,  May  i,  i9oi. 


Contents 


PAOB 

Th«  Tuknino  o»  the  Morniho        ....    17 

Th«  Sackxo  Prisknt 2- 

Ht  IS  WOIITHT «j 

The  Woeth  of  a  Mam ^, 

The  River  of  God    ... 

49 

Under  Pontius  Pilate .- 

A  Voice  from  Another  World      .  .67 

The  Spirit  of  the  Lord -, 

The  Sleep  of  Faith g, 

The  Mind  of  Christ _, 

A  New  Sono 

One  of  These ^^ 

With  All  the  Saints ,  ,_ 

The  Open  Eve j„ 

The  Unknown  Jesus ,«_ 

A  Twelve  Hours'  Day         .       .  ,..« 

•       •       •       •      145 

The  Coming  Night ,5, 

The  Descent  of  Jesus ,,- 

ti 


"  Contcnta 

Who  Am  I? 

•       •        «       • 

The  DiNiAL  of  S«tF 

•  •  • 

Anothb*  Country 
Shattered  Foundations 
The  Divine  Pursuit 
The  Turning  of  the  Evenino 


MOB 
.    165 

.  181 
189 

•  197 
ao3 


aimfflbti?  f  atbcr,  who  with  untir. 

INO  LOVE  DOST  WATCH  OVER  ThY  CHILDREN 
FROM  ONE  GENERATION  TO  ANOTHER:  AMID  ALL 
THE     CHANGES     OF     OUR     EARTHLY     LIFE      ThOU 

ABiDEST.  Graciously  help  us  to  abide  in 
Thee,  that   evermore  we  may  be   steadfast 

AND     STRONG.       FoR     THE     LIGHT     THAT     NEVER 
FAILED    AND   THE    GRACE    THAT     NEVER    LEFT   US 
IN   THE   DAYS   GONE   BY;    FOR    THE   VISIONS    THAT 
DISPELLED    OUR     DOUBT     AND     THE     HOPES    THAT 
CHASTENED      OUR      SORROW,      WE     LIFT     UP     OUR 
HEARTS     TO     Thee    IN     PRAISE    AND    JOY.       MaY 
THE     COMING     DAYS     BE     FILLED     WITH     A     H-H 
SENSE     OF    THE     SACREDNESS    OF    LIFE    AND     THE 
VALUE   OF   TIME.       WiTH    THE   DAWNING   OF   EACH 
NEW    DAY,    SHINE    ON   US   WITH   ThY   FACE        Up- 
LIFT     OUR     HEARTS     BY     THE     THOUGHT    OF    THE 
GLORY  OF   OUR   CALLING   IN   ChRIST   AND   OF   THE 
JOY    THAT   IS    SET     BEFORE    US    IN    HiS    SERVICE. 
MAY    THE    NUMBERLESS    MEMORIES    OF    ThY    PA 
TIENT   LOVE    DELIVER   US    FROM    KVERY    CROOKED 
WAY,    FROM   EVERY    EVIL   THOUGHT  AND  IMAGINA- 
TION,   THAT     WHEN     ALL     OUR     DAYS    ON     EARTH 
ARE   DONE   WE   MAY   BE  SET  BEFORE  THE   PRESENCE 
OF   Thy  GLORY    WITHOUT    BLEMISH    IN   EXCEEDING 
JOY,    THROUGH  JeSUS  ChRIST   OUR   LoRD. 

Amen. 
13 


"?"«f  *«  «««  «lon*;  «nA  tbete 


THE  TURNING  OF  THE  MORNING 

How  naturally  dawn  wakes  thoughts  of  vie 

^™;;''°'^'"'^''^^^'•^-"'--^^^^^^^^^ 

triumph  over  night,  she  is  tremulous  with  His 
presence.     It  was  "at  ♦»,-♦• 

ing"  that  -tLT   !  '°'"^  °^  '^"  °^*>'°- 

ng    that    the  Lord  overthrew  the  Egyptians 

ZZc^  r."""^"-  -o^ess  heartleTs 
foe,  the  Church  of  a  later  day  sang- 

«.«e'  ^d  T'  ?'"^  "«  •  ""««•«  "'way. 
fierce  „d  often  lonely  i„  ,he  p-ay  j,^ 

Jacob  was  left  alone;  and  there  wrestltra 

Snch  a  struggle  in  the  dawn  is  the  prophecy  of 
a  great  «,d  triumphant  day  ^ 

Another  year  has  risen,  and  we  are  left 

•lone  in  another  dawn      To..„v      ^ 

rear   win   ^-  ^o  each  and  to  all  the 

year   mil   bnng  tempution.  discipline,  and 


tt 


Vbe  Divine  pursuit 


opportunity;  it  will  test  sincerity  and  strain 
faith.  Can  we  look  without  flinching  on  the 
trials  that  some  of  its  days  may  hurl  against 
us?  Every  day,  with  its  often  unwelcome 
tasks,  and  unheeded  blessings,  will  bring  v 
face  to  face  with  God.  Shall  we  see  Him? 
Shall  we  be  glad  to  look  upon  Him  if  we  see 
Him?  or  shall  we  start  back  in  terror  or  in  anger 
at  the  awful  Presence  which  in  failure  or  in 
sorrow  may  cross  our  path?  Be  sure  that  into 
whatever  experience  we  wander.  He  will  be 
there  before  us;  and  we  shall  cnly  face  Him 
with  quietness  and  confidence  J  we  have 
wrestled  with  Him,  with  no  less  than  a  terrible 
earnestness,  at  the  rising  of  the  dawn. 

The  man  who  sees  God  in  the  dawn  will  see 
Him  in  the  noonday;  yea,  and  at  eventide 
there  will  be  light.  The  peace  that  is  won  in 
the  lonely  struggle  with  the  unseen  Stranger 
will  possess  the  soul  in  the  din  and  strife  of  the 
day.  That  day  will  be  great  into  which  God 
enters  at  the  dawn ;  and  the  man  who  is  not 
afraid  to  wrestle  with  his  God  in  the  gray  and 
lonely  morning  will  not  be  afraid  of  any  pos* 


XLbt  tCnrnlna  of  tbe  Aorniiid      19 

•ible  strife  with  his  fellows.    Only,  the  stmg. 
gle  whose  crown  is  peace  and  victory  must  be 
strenuous  and  sincere.     He  is  a  bold  man  who 
would  wrestle  with  God,  and  he  must  be  in 
deadly  earnest.     But-oh,  blessed  mystery!— 
in  this  strange  struggle  man  may  conquer  and 
wrest  a  blessing  from  Almighty  God.     How 
then  shall  he  fear  what  the  year  may  bring 
forth,  who  has  striven  with  God  and  prevailed? 
In  the  solemn  mood  which  steals  over  every 
serious  man  at  the  opening  of  the  year,  God  is 
struggling  with  him.     Let  him  not  decline  the 
struggle.     Let  him  face  it  humbly,  yet  boldly; 
for  on  the  issue  thereof,  his  year,  his  soul,  de' 
pends.     Or  can  it  be  that  our  hearts  are  so  full 
of  the  world  and  so  dull  and  irresponsive  to 
heavenly  solicitations  that  we  have  not  yet  felt 
that  powerful,  tender,  unseen  Presence  at  the  ^ 
breaking  of  the  day?    For  surely  with  us,  too, 
a  man  has  been  wrestling,  even  the  man  Christ 
Jesus.    How  long  He  will  yet  wrestle  we  do 
not  know.     Our  day  may  be  very  short.     Even 
if  it  be  long,  when  the  sun  is  in  the  heavens 
and  the  familiar  task  has  begun  again.  He  may 


00 


Vbe  9Mnt  tnxBnit 


go  »way.     He  hat  been  wrestling  with  onr 
peisimltm  and  striving  to  rebuke  it  by  His 
vision  of  a  Father  to  whom  the  least  among  us 
i«  of  more  value  than  many  sparrows.    He  has 
been  wrestling  with  our  worldlincss  and  sadly 
reminding  us,  who  should  have  needed  no  re. 
minder,  that  a  man's  life  consisteth  not  in  the 
abundance  of  the  things  which  he  posscsseth. 
He  has  been  wrestling  with  our  pride  and  seek- 
ing  to  touch  our  haughty  hearts  by  the  sight 
of  Himself— in  whom  and  through  whom  and 
to  whom  are  all  things-girt  with  a  towel  and 
washing  His  disciples*  feet;  for  "I  am  among 
you  as  he  that  doth  serve."     He  has  been 
wrestling  with  our  insincerity,  seeking  to  put 
us  to  shame  by  likening  us  to  foul  platters 
and  whited  sepulchres.     He  has  been  wrestling 
with  our  shallow  faith  which  will  not  grandly 
trust  God  for  the  morrow,  reminding  us  that 
our  heavenly  Father   knoweth  that  we  have 
need  of  all  these  things.     He  has  been  wres- 
tling  with  our  procrastination  which  will  not 
believe  in  the  divineness  of  To-day,  and  seek- 
ing  to  rouse  our  slumbering  energiea  by  the 


Ub€  Vucnina  of  tbc  Aornino     •< 

proipect  of  A  day  when  the  door  may  be  ihut 
He  hat  been  wrestling  with  our  doubu  of  a  land 
of  light  beyond  the  veil,  and  has  come  back 
to  assare  ui  with  Hia,  "Peace  be  nnto  you." 

Oh,  wretched  man  that  I  am!  that  so  gra- 
cious  a  Spirit  should  wrestle  with  me,  and  I  re- 
main  unblessed.  Lord!  Thou  hast  promised 
to  be  with  me  all  the  days.  Say  not,  "Let  me 
go,  for  the  day  breaketh."  For  I  will  not  let 
Thee  go  unless  Thou  bless  me.  I  know  that 
not  in  anger,  but  in  love,  Thou  dost  wrestle 
with  me.  Thou  dost  wrestle  that  Thou  mayest 
save.  Bless  me  then,  O  Lord,  with  Thy  grace, 
and  help  me  at  the  turning  of  the  morning. 
So  shall  I  be  with  Thee  all  the  day.    Amen. 


"TTbc  place  wbercon  tbou  stanbest  ie 
boly  arounb." 


i£> 


THE  SACRED  PRESENT 

The  mountain  of   God  is  just  beyond  the 
desert.     Push  far  enough  across  the  burning 
sands,  like  Moses  at  his  lowly  shepherd  task  in 
Midian.  and  you  will  come  to  a  mountain 
where  sheep  can  find  pasture  and  living  men 
can  see  God.     Nay,  but  is  not  God  everywhere 
the  God  of  the  waste  where  I  am  as  well  as  of 
the  hill  to  which  I  am  going?    Could  we  be- 
lieve that,  then  it  would  not  be  a  waste  place 
for  us  any  more;  its  loneliness  would  fill  with 
holy  presences,  its  silence  ring  with  heavenly 
voices.     And  surely  God  is  there.     Many  of 
His  purest  and  bravest  children  He  has  thrust 
mto  a  desert  place,  to  brace  them  to  a  patient 
strength  they  could  not  learn  amid  the  clamors 
and  frivolities  of  the  world,  and  to  open  their 
eyes  to  His  calm  and  fair  eternity.     Not  in  the 
pomp  of  Egypt,  but  in  the  weird  desolation  of 
Midian,  does  he  meet  us  with  a  vision  of  Him- 
self. 

as 


t«  .  Zbc  Dipfnc  pursuit 

Men  owe  more  than  they  know  to  the  disci- 
pline of  the  desert;  it  is  there  that  they  see 
"great  sights,"  which  touch  the  springs  of 
faith  and  action.     To  every  man  it  is  given  to 
walk  in  loneliness  across  a  wilderness  for  days 
or  months  or  years,  the  moisture  sucked  by  the 
pitiless  sun  from  the  ground  beneath  his  feet. 
Yet  there  in  his  desert  he  may  see  his  God. 
He  need  not  take  another  step;  he  has  but  to 
stand,  audi  look,   and  listen;    for  any  place 
whereon  he  can  be  standing,  however  shelter- 
less or  dreary,  will  be  holy  ground.     That  is 
what  we  need  to  know  and  feel,  that  we  are 
traveling   not   only  to  God,  but  with  Him, 
every  step  of  every  journey;  that  He  is  a  pres- 
ent  God,  present  in  the  burning,   cheerless 
wilderness  as  well  as  on  the  hill,  whose  verdure 
and  waters  invite  us.     It  is  much  to  know  that 
God  is  everywhere;  but  sharp  grief  or  deep 
loneliness  will  only  be  satisfied  with  the  vision 
of  Him  here.     It  is  not  so  hard  to  cherish  a 
vague  faith  that  God  besets  us  behind  and  be- 
fore; harder  it  is  to  be  sure  that  He  is  in  the 
place  whereon  we  are  standing.     Too  often  we 


TCbe  Sacred  present  a; 

believe  that  God  is  anywhere  but  where  we 
need  Him,  that  is,  where  we  are  ourselves, 
with  our  broken  hearts  and  hopes. 

In  his  loneliness  and  hopelessness  Moses  had 
forgotten  the  sacrednebj  of  the  present  place 
and  the  present  opportunity.     He  worshiped 
the  God  of  the  fathers,  of  Abraham,  Isaac  and 
Jacob;  despair  had  weakened  his  faith  that  he 
was  also  the  God  of  their  succeeding  race. 
This  brooding  man,  whose  mind   and   heart 
were  in  the  past,  with  hardly  thought  or  hope 
for  present  or  future,  had  to  be  brought  back 
through  fire  to  a  true  insight  into  the  magnifi. 
cence  of  the  present,  into  a  reanimating  faith 
in  the  sacredness  of  the  ground  whereon  he 
was  standing.     Did  he  long  for  God?    There 
He  was:  not  only  in  the  long-lost  land,  not 
only  fn  the  far-off  days  which  were  but  a  half 
inspiring,  half  depressing  memory,  but  here 
and  now  in  the  place  whereon  he  was  standing. 
A  sorry  enough   place  it  was--wild,  dreary, 
staring  desert;  the  deadly  silence  broken  only 
at  night  by  the  growl  of  a  wild  beast;  here 
and  there  a  stunted  bush;  nowhere  any  sign  of 


a8 


TTbe  B)ivine  pursuit 


I' 


h 


life  or  hope.  Yet  out  of  the  sttmted  bush  start 
the  vision  and  voice  of  God;  the  present  is 
kindled  with  the  glory  of  fire. 

So  into  weary  men  and  women,  tired  of  the 
present,    looking    with    indifference,    if    not 
despair,  to  the  future,  and  back  to  the  past 
with  wistfulness,   this  ancient  message    will 
again  put  heart,  that  the  place  whereon  they 
are  standjng  is  holy  ground;  that  the  present, 
sad  and  barren  as  it  seems,  is  yet  the  home  of 
God,  contains  a  revelation  of  Him,  a  vision  of 
Him,  a  word  from  Him;    that  the  present, 
lonely  as  it  seems,  is  relieved  and  illumined  by 
the  presence  of  the  God  who  graciously  reveals 
Himself  in  fire  to  faithful  men  in  quiet  hours 
and  desert  places;  and  resplendent  with  the 
presence  of  the  risen  Christ,  who  said,  "Behold, 
I  am  with  you  all  the  days  till  the  end  of  the 
world,"  and  then  we  shall  behold  Him  face  to 
face. 


"Ubcs,  wbcn  tbcs  came  to  3c8U8, 
besoudbt  bim  earnestli?,  sai^fnd  "be  is 
wortbs  tbit  tbou  sbonlbest  bo  tbis  for 
bim.' " 


:! 


;1 


HE  IS  WORTHY 


He  was  only  a  foreign  soldier's  servant;  but 
he  was  dear  to  his  master,  and  he  lay  dyine 
Something  in  the  Jewish  people  had  won  his 
master  s  heart;  most  of  all  had  the  oft-told  tale 
of  Jesus'  healing  love  touched  him  to  a  strange 
sure  faith  in  the  Healer.     So  he   sends  !o 
Jesus;  would  he  comi,  and  heal  his  servant? 
And  as  we  look  upon  the  frank  brave  face 
whose  noble  brow  is  fretted  with  anxious  can! 
for  the  man  he  loves,  the  words  of  the  envoys 
find  a  willmg  echo  in  our   hearts,   "He   is 
worthy  that  thou  shouldest  do  this  for  him  " 

No  man  who  reads  his  own  heart  aright 
would  count  himself  worthy.  A  Jacob  knows 
that  he  »s  not  worthy  of  the  least  of  all  the 
mercxesofhisGod.    A  Baptist  confesses  him. 

self  unworthy  even  to  stoop  and  loose  the  Mas. 
ter  s  sand  J.  This  captain  of  a  hundred  men 
counts  it  too  high  an  honor  to  have  Jesus  stand 

31 


i* 


TTbe  Divine  Pnr^nit 


beneath  his  roof.  But  if  any  man  may  deem 
another  worthy,  surely  it  is  this  soldier  heart, 
with  its  passion  of  love  for  a  suffering  servant, 
its  generosity  of  affection  for  an  alien  and 
despised  people,  its  miracle  of  clear-sighted 
faith  in  the  yet  unseen,  and  all  but  unknown 
Jesus. 

But  there  is  another  Captain  of  many  a  hun- 
dred men;  and  He  too  is  worthy.    When  He 
says  "go,"i  and  we  go,  however  humble  the 
errand  or  narrow  the  way,  we  shall  not  go  far 
till  we  find  that  the  way  on  which  He  has  sent 
us,  is  the  way  to  heaven.     When  He  bids  us 
do  this,  and  we  do  it,  there  hangs  about  the 
deed  we  do,  be  it  never  so  lowly,  the  halo  of 
eternity.     For  it  is  done  for  Him;  and  He  is 
worthy  and  He  liveth  for  evermore.     His  serv- 
ice  transmutes  the  commonest  life  into  some- 
thing more  precious  than  gold,  yea  than  fine 
gold;  even  into  beauty  immortal,  ineffable. 

Forever,  then,  with  the  Lord,  who  comes 
without  ceasing  in  every  needy  brother,  in 
every  call  of  duty,  in  every  household  care! 
Life  cannot  surely  then  be  less  than  divinely 


•<  to  TRBortbs  33 

^at  to  one  who  finds  in  all  It.  claims  a  call  to 
the  service  of  Him  who  is  worthy.    In  our 
cramped  experience  we  pine  for  nobler  oppor- 
tunity ;  yet  we  stumble  and  fall  over  the  oppor. 
tun.ties  that  the  common  duties  of  every  day 
lay  at  our  feet.      We  reserve  ourselves  for 
great  occasions,  forgetting  that  every  occasion 
«  great  into  which  we  allow  Jesus  to  enter- 
that  every  house  is  blessed  beneath  whose  rooi 
He  stands. 

Why  do  we  keep  our  lives  so  dark  by  closing 
our  eyes  to  the  h»    ,enly  splendor  that  is  play 
mg  upon  them?     Jvery  act  might  gleam  with 
a  gracious  Presence;  for  has  it  not  been  given 
us  to  do  by  One  who  is  worthy?    Life  would 
eap  forth  with  glad  bounds  towards  the  un- 
troubled  joy  that  is  set  before  it.  did  we  thrill 
to  the  sense  of  the  holy  privilege  that  is  ours  in 
His  service. 

There  comes  a  claim  upon  our  strength  and 
sympathy.  The  work  is  not  directly  ours- 
such  is  the  answer  we  make  to  our  hearts.  It 
breaks  with  rude  voice  into  the  too  crowded 
monotony  of  our  days.     We  see  in  it  an  inter- 


34 


TTbc  Btpine  pnr«utt 


rnptlon  instead  of  an  opportunity.  We  will 
not  turn  aside.  Or  if  we  listen  and  help  and 
heal,  it  is  with  a  sullen  grudge  against  the 
unkind  thing  that  has  turned  us  from  the 
straight  and  selfish  way  on  which  we  fain  had 
trodden.  For  such  unlovely  service  there  can 
be  no  amaranthine  crown.  The  task  was  hard 
perchance ;  there  was  no  form  nor  comeliness 
about  it  that  we  should  desire  it.  But 
He  is  worthy,  for  whom  thou  shouldest  do 
this. 

Or  perhaps  our  work  is  honest  and  good 
Perhaps  we  are  workmen  who  need  not  to  be 
ashamed.  With  trembling,  yet  with  confi- 
dence,  we  can  fling  it  open  to  the  searching 
eyes  of  the  Masterbuilder;  for  it  is  our  bravest 
and  best.  Yet  we  may  be  too  haughtily  care- 
less of  the  feelings  and  prejudices  of  the  breth- 
ren and  sisters,  for  whom  our  work  is  done. 
Has  needless  oifence  been  given  by  us  and  do 
we  not  care?  We  have  been  faithful  in  the 
great  things,  and  are  stubborn  and  angry  be- 
cause men  have  been  offended  by  our  inatten- 
tion to  things  that  we  deem  trivial.     Do  we 


I^e  t8  Vllortbv  ss 

well  to  be  angry?  Por  nothing  it  trivial ;  leait 
of  all,  anything  that  prejudice!  a  man'a  real 
influence.  A  man  of  apoatolic  power  can  be 
all  thing!  to  all  men.  He  will  be  vexed  i»  even 
hU  trivial  thing!  have  given  offence;  and  with 
humility  ar  *  eelf-control,  he  will  eet  himeelf  to 
be  ''perfect  and  entire,  wanting  nothing." 
Por  i!  not  hi!  work  the  eervice  of  Another? 
And  /fe  ie  worthy  for  whom  thou  !houlde!t  do 
thi!. 

He  ii  worthy.  In  thi!  !trange  !en!e  of  a 
Preacnce  that  foUowcth  all  our  way,  lie!  the 
graciou!  !timulu!  to  render  of  our  bett  to  God, 
ihe  worid,  and  our!elve!,  till  all  our  work  is 
done.  The  work  may  be  lowly,  unhonored, 
ungueiaed,  unseen  of  other!.  So  small  a  serv. 
ice  may  seem  hardly  worth  while.  But  it  is 
service  of  Him,  and  He  is  worthy. 

And  thoee  for  whom  we  !pend  our!elve!  may 
return  our  kindness  with  slander,  or  worse. 
They  •'were  tortured,  they  were  slain  with  the 
sword;  being  destitute,  afflicted,  tormented." 
And  of  them  it  is  written  that  the  world  was 
not  worthy.     The  tragedy  of  all  service  is  that 


;l)i 


3«  TTbe  mvinc  pureuit 

it  is  so  often  oflfered  to  the  unworthy.  But 
worthy  or  unworthy  as  those  may  be,  for  whom 
we  live  and  suffer  and  to  whom  we  give  our 
best,  He  is  worthy;  and  with  that  we  may  be 
well  content. 

He  is  worthy  for  whom  fAou  shouldest  do 
this.     The  tongue  of  the  unlearned  and  igno- 
rant  man  may  well  sing  for  joy,  as  he  sees  how 
his  life  too  may  be  caught  up  into  the  heavens 
by  the  rushing  mighty  wind  of  enthusiasm  for 
One  who   is  worthy.      The  poorest  and  the 
plainest,  when  they  lay  their  gifts  upon  the 
altar  of  service,  will  find  them  not  only  conse- 
crated,  but  transfigured. 

Thou   shouldest  do  this.     So  we  need  not 
search  the  heavens  or  the  depths  for  opportunity 
of  service.     It  comes  unsought  to  every  living 
man.     Every  hour  it  stands  knocking  at  the 
door.     It  is  the  Master  in  disguise.     To  the 
unsealed  eyes  the  lowliest  act  fills  with  a  pres- 
ence, as  suddenly  before  the  astonished  dis- 
ciples in  the  simply  furnished  upper  room  the 
Saviour  of  mankind  appeared.  In  every  oppor- 
tunity the  Master  is  calling  for  thee.     If  the 


tt  i0  TPnortbp  37 

thing  is  worth  doing,  it  is  worth  doiag  well, 
passing  well;  for  He  is  worthy. 

Not  only  in  this  world  of  effort  but  in  that 
quiet  land  where  they  shaU  not  hunger  nor 
thirst  nor  struggle  any  more,  will  the  presence 
of  Him  who  is  worthy,  kindle  the  soul  to  rap- 
ture.    For  with  the  many  angels  round  about 
the  throne  we  shall  sing  with  a  loud  voice, 
"Worthy  is  the  Lamb  that  hath  been  slain  to 
receive  the  power,  and  riches,  and  wisdom, 
and  might,  and  honor,  and  glory,  and  bless' 
ing." 


f: 


i!i 


"XTbc  wlcftcD  arc  iffte  the  cbatr  wbicb 
tbc  wfnb  bripctb  awag. 

"Ubcreforc  tbc  wicftcb  aball  not  dtanb 
in  tbc  jubflmcnt." 


|! 


THE  WORTH  OF  A  MAN 

A  man  is  worth  what  he  is,  not  what  he  has; 
and  that  is  true  both  of  this  world  and  of  that 
which  is  to  come.     While  he  lives  he  may  win 
and  lose  everything  but  one— his  own  person- 
ality.     That  is  always  his;   ultimately  it  is  all 
that  is  his.    In  that  lies  his  worth,  if  he  have 
any;  not  in  the  abundance  of  the  things  which 
he  possesses  and  can  lose.     And  when  he  dies 
he  loses  what  he  has,  but  he  remains  what  he 
is.     He  who  is  unjust  will  be  unjust  still;  he 
who  is  holy  will  be  holy  still;  but  he  who  is 
wealthy  will  be  wealthy  no  more.     It  is  a  pain- 
ful  tribute  to  the  commercialism  of  our  age 
that  a  rich  man  is  said  to  be  worth  so  much 
when  he  dies.     If  he  is  worth  no  more  than 
what  he  left  he  is  worth  nothing;  and  in  the 
other  world  which,  with  all  his  foresight,  he 
has  forgotten  or  ignored,  he  will  start  a  bank- 
rupt, if  he  start  at  all.     Or  will  he  not  rather 

41 


4» 


TTbe  S)it>fne  pursuit 


»  i 


be  too  weak  to  start  on  this  new,  strange 
journey,  too  weak  even  to  stand;  able  only  to 
vanish  like  the  chaflf  which  the  judgment  wind 
of  God  drives  to  and  fro— his  withered  soul 
shriveling  up  before  the  fierce  heat  of  God's 
judgment  fire?  All  the  gold  of  all  the  mines 
will  not  purchase  him  peace  or  pardon,  or  re- 
deem him  from  the  fate  of  those  who  have 
trifled  away  their  gifts  or  opportunities. 

Worth  so  much!  to  whom?    Who  was  the 
better  for  what  he  was  worth?    Society?    Was 
he  himself  the  better  for  it,  or  was  he  only  the 
richer?    Could  he  face  the  silence?    Could  he 
see  the  Unseen?    Did  his  presence  lighten  any 
darkness,   cheer    any  loneliness?      Was    any 
heart  the  sorer  for  his  passing?    Was  "his  soul 
well  knit,  and  all  his  battles  won"?    Unless 
there  was  some  divine  idea  in  him,  which  he 
represented  and  incarnated,  unless  he  was  a 
worthy  man,  unless,  that  is,  there  was  some- 
thing in  him  we  could  worship — for  worship  is 
tribute   to   worth  — he   was   worth    nothing, 
though  he  had  billions. 
Will  there  ever  come  a  day,  we  sometin  ?s 


Zbc  movtb  ot  a  Aan  43 

ask,  when  men  will  get  what  th:y  deserve? 
The  dreamers  of  dreams  comfort  us  with  the 
vision  of  a  world  to  come  in  the  distant  days, 
when  inner  worth  will  be  fairly  measured,  and 
fitly  rewarded  with  its  due  share  of  the  world's 
good  things,  its  honor,  fame  and  gold.     Is  that 
God's  way?    Not  always  have  the  benefactors 
of  religion  won  their  $5,000  a  year.     Many  of 
the  greatest  of  them  were  roasted  alive,  had 
their  tongues  slit,  and  their  heads  hacked  off; 
"others  had  trial  of  mockings  and  scourging?, 
yea,  moreover,  of  bonds  and  imprisonment; 
they  were  stoned,  they  were  sawn  asunder." 
Great  poets  have  received   for  little   poems 
a    blank    check,  to  be  filled  in    as    avarice 
prompted;   and  greater  poets   have  received 
for  lasting  work  the  indifference,   even   the 
scorn,  of  their  own  generation.    Great  paint- 
ers   have    received    thousands    for   devoting 
their  genius  to  trivial  and  unworthy  .       .es; 
and  greater  painters  have  given  the  world  their 
finest  work  for  nothing.     There  may  be  some 
world,  where  worth  and  wages  correspond,  and 
the  genius  is  ♦he  millionaire;    but  it  is  not 


I 


44 


I 

l; 


^be  ©ivine  pursuit 


ours.     Fools  have  been  t«o^-. 

uavo  oeen  made  emperors   An/f 

«.^  .dm.m,.ration  of  i™ti„.  and  traditionri- 
tat.  over  Khoob  of  I«r,j„j  ^^   religion 
FoUyand  wick.dne»  have  reaped  w.al.hTnd 
power  and  fame.     Whi,.  philosopher,  have 

■nobbed;    explorers  have  lost  .heir  lives    in 
.wamps  and  snows:  inventor  have  been  rid" 

^Ld  "in         ,"  f  "''•  «°""»-  *'P- 
b«".  m  penis  ■„  .he  ci.y,  in  perils  i„  .1, 

^...incol^rnlrss-'^^L'-r 

S.P^.     V..„or.hiswor.h.as°<:r;s^? 

It  «n„ot  be  valued  wiu,  .he  fine  gold  o 

Ophr  "  n<„  need  it  be;  for  every  man  h» 

whathedeservesinstinbeingwhafheis.    A 

w:nhThl  T""  '"""■  "'  '^~*'--  »^ 
wor.h  ,s  his  deares.  satisfacion ;  he  craves  no 

»ore.han  the  ^^vilege  of  exercising  rg.° 
that  «  u,  h,m.  of  doing  his  work  and  befng 


TTbc  Mortb  of  a  Aan  45 

himself.  Let  us  see  that  our  hearts  and  minds 
are  set  upon  the  unseen  things,  which  alone  will 
stand  the  shock  of  death  and  the  ruin  of 
worlds. 


I 


"TCberc  ta  a  river,  tbe  streama  wbereof 
make  0(ab  tbe  citv  ot  Oob.' 


t* 


i 


I! 


! 

11 

i 

i 

i 

THE  RIVER  OF  GOD 

The  great  lyric,  which  we  call  the  forty, 
sixth  Pwlm,  presents  us  with  magnificent  con- 
fusions,  and  with  a  no  less  magnificent  order 
Ftrst.  a  world  in  ruins;   the  earth  dislodged 
from  the  pillars  on  which  she  rests,  the  moun- 
tams  torn  up  by  their  roots  and  flung  into  the 
heart  of  the  sea,  the  sea  itself  raging  and  foam- 
ing,   Its   proud    swelling    shaking    the    very 
mountains;  sea  and  land  have  left  the  bounds 
appointed  for  them,  and  have  crossed  into  each 
other's   domain;   in  all   nature,  nothing  but 
confusion  confounded.      Then  comes  a  con- 
fusion  worse  confounded.      Instead  of  angry 
nature,  there  are  cruel,  threatening  men  •  in- 
stead  of  foaming  seas  there  is  the  roar  of 
nations,  foaming  out  their  warlike  fury  against 
Jehovah  and  His  people;  instead  of  mountains 
hurled  into  the  sea.  there  is  the  blustering  of 
worldly  kingdoms.      They  come  to  the  fray 

49 


r 


50 


TCbe  S>fvtne  Dursuft 


with  cruel  weapons  of  war— bow,  spear,  shield, 
chariot— armed  with  deadly  hate  and  pride. 
Was  it  any  wonder  that  in  the  midst  of  such 
turmoil  Israel  should  feel  in  distress?  Will 
such  a  proud  sea  not  sweep  away  everything 
which  it  overwhelms?  Bat  there  is  a  river 
whose  streams  can  make  glad,  as  well  as  a  sea 
whose  waters  can  devastate. 

Israel  stands  firm  in  a  world  where  every- 
thing else  IS  in  flux:  stands,  because  her  confi. 
dence  is  in  Jehovah.     Though  distressed,  she 
is  not  in  despair:  so  far  from  being  in  despair 
that  she  looks  out  to  the  future  with  the  sub- 
limest  confidence.     "We  will  not  fear."    The 
God  whose   grace  has  saved  her  from  these 
furious  floods  can  save  her  from   anything. 
"Jehovah  sat    as    King  at   the    flood;    yea] 
Jehovah  sitteth  as  King  forever."    So  "we  will 
not  fear,"  not  even  though  the  mountains  that 
are  round  about  Jerusalem— mountains  whose 
fixity  another  Psalmist  took  as  the  symbol  of 
the  security  Jehovah  was  to  his  people— be 
torn  up  and  hurled  across  the  plain  into  the 
depths  of  the  great  sea.     Whence  came  this 


TTbe  Viver  ot  Oo^  51 

brave  paean  of  joy?  Was  it  not  from  the  cer- 
tainty of  God's  grace,  the  certainty  that  "there 
was  a  river  whose  streams  made  glad  the  city 
of  God"? 

The  beauty  and  the  insight  of  this  verse  are 
not  truly  felt  till  we  realize  how  destitute  the 
Holy  City  was  of  everything  that  could  have 
given  birth  to  such  a  thought.     In  the  words 
of  a  German  traveler,  "While  other  famous 
cities  owe  their  power  to  natural  conditions, 
such  as  commanding  sites  on  seas  and  rivers, 
Jerusalem    is   distinguished   precisely  by  the 
absence  of  all  such  natural  advantages.     She 
stands  there  alone  in  the  wilderness,  built  on 
hard,  rocky  soil,  with  no  rich  pastures,  with 
hardly  a  field,  without  a  river— indeed  with 
hardly  a  spring— far  from  the  great  paths  of 
commerce.     She  is  what  she  is,  without  a  peer, 
only  through  the  divine  revelation  of  which 
she  was  the  scene." 

This  riverless  city  has  become  the  city 
"without  a  peer"  because  of  her  unseen 
river,  the  river  of  the  grace  of  God,  the  river 
of  the  water  of  life.     The  desert,  with  its 


5a 


TTbe  JDivlnc  pursuit 


monotony  and  dreariness,  was  never  far  away 
Rocks  and  bare  hills  stare  at  you  everywhere. 
Through  the    dusty  city  ran   no    refreshing 
streams-none  but  one,  the  river  of  the  God 
who  was  in  the  midst  of  her;  a  stream  that 
could  only  be  seen  by  the  eye  of  faith,  a  very 
powerful  faith,  for  there  was  nothing  in  the 
landscape  to  suggest  it.     But  if  there  was  noth- 
ing in  the  landscape,  there  was  in  the  history— 
in  the  recent  deliverance.    For  the  song  is  sup- 
posed  to  be  a  triumphal  ode  on  the  deliverance  of 
Jerusalem  from  Sennacherib  and  his  Assyrians 
The  river  of  God  that  flowed  all  unseen  through 
the  town  had  saved  it  from  destruction.     Those 
who  had  eyes  to  see  it,  and  who  were  refreshed 
by  the  breezes  that  blew  from  it,  feared  not 
though  the  mountains  plunged  into  the  sea 
Mountains  might  reel;   but  the  people  were 
safe  so  long  as  the  river  was  there.    That  was 
the  pledge  that  the  night  was  already  far  spent 
and  God  would  help  them  "at  the  turning  of 
the  morning." 

Oh,  the  joy  of  the  eyes  which  see  the  sights 
that  they  saw !    That,  in  the  dreary,  dusty  city 


Zbc  iRiver  ot  Oo^ 


53 


—under  siege,  it  may  be— within  whose  walls 
is  so  much  pain  and  misery,  and  on  whose 
streets  walk  anxiety  and  sorrow,  yet  see  through 
it  all  the  silver  line  of  the  river  of  God.  It  is 
from  the  far  days  of  the  world's  infancy  that 
the  tale  has  come  down  to  us  of  a  beautiful 
garden  with  trees  many  and  fair,  and  a  river 
flowing  through  it.  The  time  of  cities  was  not 
yet:  and  when  they  came,  they  brought  so 
much  siege  and  weariness  that  it  was  the  few- 
est who  could  see  God's  river  there.  But  the 
river  is  there,  and  one  day — how  far  away  we 
know  not— river  and  city  will  alike  be  fair. 
Every  gate  of  the  city  will  be  a  precious  stone, 
and  in  the  midst  of  the  street  thereof  will  be 
the  river  of  the  water  of  life,  and  there  shall 
be  no  curse  any  more. 


^1 


"t  believe  in  Bcens  Cbrlet,  Dis  onis 
Son  our  Xorb,  wbo  was  concetreb  b» 
tbe  Doll?  Obo0t,  born  of  tbc  mtgin 
Abars,  autreteb  nnbev  pontins  pUate.' 


t» 


UNDER  PONTIUS  PILATE 

One  generation  passeth  away  and  another 
generation  cometh,  but  two  names  will  be  re- 
membered as  long  as  the  world  lasts.  Every 
Sabbath  day,  as  the  Christian  Chtirch  confesses 
her  faith  in  God  the  Father  Almighty,  maker 
of  heaven  and  earth,  and  in  Jesus  Christ,  His 
only  begotten  Son,  she  is  reminded  of  Mary, 
the  Hebrew  mother  who  bore  Him,  and  Pilate, 
the  Roman  governor  who  crucified  Him.  We 
cannot  look  upon  the  Holy  Trinity  without 
seeing  the  faces  of  these  two  mortals  who  have 
won  so  strange  an  immortality  through  their 
relationship  to  Jesus,  who  was  born  of  the  one 
and  suffered  under  the  other. 

"Suffered  under  Pontius  Pilate."  Hideous 
pre-eminence  among  the  sons  of  men !  Heaven 
and  hell  are  round  about  the  Savior.  Mary  on 
the  right,  the  Virgin  Mary;  Pilate  on  the  left, 
Pontius  Pilate,  under  whom  He  suffered;  and 

57 


s*  TTbe  Divine  pnrattft 

Jesus  in  the  midst      What  a  trinity!     And 
those  on  either  side  «re  immortal  as  Jesus. 
There  stands  Pilate  before  us,  if  only  for  a 
moment  every  Sabbath  day.     Into  the  stately 
worship  Tie  glides  like  a  lost  soul  from  out  of  a 
world  of  wailing  and  lamentation,  as  if  he 
hated  his  own  immortelity  and  besought  us  to 
forget  him.      But  he  Uvcs  on  and  on;   for 
Christ  "suffered  under  Pontius  Pilate,"  and 
the  Church  miist  remember  her  Lord's  suffer- 
fag,  as  she  remembers  His  love.    Oh  Pilate! 
with  the  haggard  face  and  restless  eyes  •  face 
troubled  with  the  thought  that  some  son  of  the 
gods  stands  before  thee,  and  it  is  thme  awful 
privilege  to  decide  his  fate:  eyes  strained  with 
fear  upon  the  visions  that  thy  wife  saw  in  the 
dream  that  troubled  her  by  night.    Oh  Pilate! 
with  the  bloody  hands.     Thou  hast  slain  a 
righteous  man,  a  man  whom  thine  own  Roman 
heart  knew  and  confessed  to  be  righteous 
Thou  didst   call  for  water:    but  thou  shalt 
never,   never,  never  wash  thy  hands  clean. 
See!  they  are  red  to-day  as  ever  after  all  these 
centuries.     And  Christ's   Church  is  smitten 


Vn^er  Pontine  ptiatc  $9 

with  wonder  and  horror  and  pity,  aa  she  looka 
at  thee;  for  her  Lord  suflfered  under  thee. 

Behold  the  man !  covered  with  nineteen  cen- 
turies of  shame,  the  scorn  and  the  pity  of  every 
generation.  The  shame  of  other  men  has  been 
buried  in  kindly  oblivion,  but  his  lives  on. 
Every  seventh  day  till  the  end  of  time  he  will 
be  remembered  in  every  land  which  names  the 
name  of  Christ,  by  old  men  and  little  children, 
as  Pontius  Pilate,  the  man  under  whom  the 
Lord  of  glory  suffered. 

But  is  the  crime  so  rare  which  has  made  his 
memory  so  hateful?  The  accident  of  office  has 
given  him  his  fearful  title  to  immortality. 
Had  we  been  in  the  governor's  place,  might 
we  not  as  easily  have  earned  his  infamous 
immortality?  He  was  but  false  to  the  best 
that  he  knew;  and,  if  that  be  his  sin,  who 
will  cast  the  first  stone?  He  rejected  the 
Christ  who  stood  before  him;  have  we 
never  rejected  the  Christ  who  speaks  in 
our  heart?  And  which  is  the  more  awful? 
for  Pilate  to  condemn  Him,  with  the  howls 
of  a   threatening  mob  ringing  in   his   ears, 


trbc  9ivine  ^uraitlt 


*nd  the  mysterious  majesty  of  his  prisoner 
not    known  to    be  the    effulgence  of   God's 
own  glory;  or  for  us  to  spurn  Him  who  know 
of  a  surety  that  He  is  Lord  of  all,  and  who 
confess  with  our  lips  that  He  will  one  day 
judge  the  quick  and  the  dead?    If  Pilate  was 
^aid  when  he  heard  that  Jesus  had  made 
Himself  the  Son  of  God,  surely  we  too  may 
tremble;    for  His  resurrection.    His  present 
power  and  triumphs  among  us.  persuade  us 
that  He  is  in  truth  the  Son  of  God.     To  reject 
such  a  voice  when  it  speaks  within  us  and 
pleads  with  us  to  be  brave,  is  to  insult  the 
gracious  majesty  of  God  and  to  imperil  our 
eternity.     The   lonely  distinction  which  the 
creed  has  given  to  Pilate  is  not  so  lonely  after 
all.      Every  man    who    has  ever   played  the 
coward,    betrayed    the    highest,   refused    the 
noblest,  chosen  the  basest,  may  fairiy  take  his 
place  by  the  side  of  the  governor,  and  then 
what  a  great  and  marvelous  fellowship  there 
will  be!    They  will  come  from  the  east  and  the 
west,  from  the  north  and  the  south:  some  with 
brazen  brows,  others  with  tear-stained  faces- 


tHiiDet  tontiM  Pilate  6i 

and  they  will  thronjr  around  Pilate,  every 
man  and  woman  and  child  since  the  world  be- 
gan,  and  they  will  perforce  own  him  as  king, 
not  because  his  wickedness  is  greater  than 
theirs,  but  because  he  spoke  the  word  which 
nailed  Christ  to  His  cross. 

There  is  that  within  us  all  which  might  have 
given  us  Pilate's  place  in  the  creed,  had  we 
but  had  his  opportunity.     His  judgment  was 
not  at  fault;   his  stem  Roman  sense  of  justice 
forced  him  to  a  right  decision.     But  he  lacked 
the  courage  of  his  convictions,  and  are  we 
better  than  he?    It  is  not  hard  to  judge  fairly 
about  Christ;  with  honest  men  only  one  judg- 
ment  is  possible.     But  it  is  hard  to  deal  fairly 
with  Him.     Rather  than  do  that,  men  are  pre- 
pared  to  risk  an  eternity  of  infamy.     Pilate 
found  no  fault  with  this  Man:    and  then  he 
scourged   Him.      Strange  logic,   strange  but 
not  rare.     We  find  no  fault  with  the  Man,  and 
we  scourge  Him  too:  in  the  apathy  with  which 
we  serve  Him,  in  the  infrequency  with  which 
we  think  of  Him,  in  our  indifference  to  the  sin 
which  grieves  Him,  in  our  neglect  of  those  for 


6§ 


Vbe  wmnt  pttrmKt 


whom  H«  died.     Jmu.  chriit,  bora  of  Um 
Virgin  Mary,  rafforod  imdor  Pootiot  Pitoto 
•nffered  tmdtr  Mr.    If  the  Church  know  m  J 
well  M  the  knows  PiUte,  would  the  not  shrink 
from  OS  too  in  horror? 

••Thon  art  not  Caesar's  fHend,"  shouted  the 
mob,  "if  thou  release  this  man. "    And  "wish- 
ing to  content  the  multitude  he  delivered  up 
Jesus  to  be  crucified."    To  Pilate  was  com- 
mitted  the   perilous  honor  of  deciding  the 
earthly  fate  of  Jesus.    Angels,  men,  and  devils 
were  looking  on,  as  Hebrew   righteousness 
stood  for  sentence  before  Roman  might.    And 
Pilate  fell.    He  could  not  face  the  loss  of  in- 
fluence  or  popularity.     But  Caesar  has  left 
him,  and  the  cruel,  howling  mob  has  left  him 
to  bear  his  shame  in  the  creed  all  these  cen. 
turies  alone;  and  what  will  they  do  for  him  in 
the  great  day  when  he  stands  for  judgment 
before  the  Christ  who  once  stood  before  him? 
Infamy  on  earth,  shame  and  confusion  at  the 
judgment  and  throughout  the  ages:  that  is  too 
-•-ar  a  price  to  pay  for  the  impotent  friendship 
emperor  and  people. 


of 


tnitder  tontiuB  piute  6j 

When  Chritt  tunds  before  us  ia  lome  duty 
or  eome  choice,  we  may,  Uke  PlUte,  reject 
Him:  bttt  in  rejecting  Him,  we  decide  not  Hie 
fate  but  our  own.    ''Sntfered  nnder  Pontius 
PiUte.  ••    That  dirge  has  rung  throughout  the 
ages,  and  followed  him  like  an  immortal  curse. 
"SuflFered  under  me."     Unheard  on   earth, 
•ave  by  my  own  conscience,  that  cry  is  pealing 
throughout  the  courts  of  heaven,  and  wiU  con. 
demn  me  at  the  last 


n 


"TOlben  it  was  cvcnlna,  on  cbat  &as, 
tbc  first  Das  of  tbe  wcch,  anb  wben  tbe 
boors  were  sbut  wbere  tbe  bisciples 
were,  Jesus  came  anb  stoob  in  tbe 
mtbst  anb  saitb  unto  tbem,  *  peace  be 
unto  yott/  *' 


I 


m 


A  VOICE  FROM  ANOTHER  WORLD 

Why  art  thou  cast  down,  O  my  soul?  Is  not 
this  the  Easter  morning?  And  why  art  thou 
disquieted  within  me?  For  now  is  Christ  risen 
from  the  dead.     Hope  thou  in  Him. 

If  I  can  but  believe  with  all  my  heart  that 
my  Lord,  whom  cruel  hands  nailed  long  ago  to 
a  tree,  is  not  now  sleeping  an  eternal  sleep  in 
his  lone  Syrian  grave,  but  is  indeed  alive  and 
triumphant   for   evermore,   I  may  look  with 
quietness  on  sorrow  and  death,  and  forget  my 
grief  in  the  light  of  immortality.    What  is  all 
our  disquiet  but  want  of  faith  in  the  eternal 
world,  where  all  the  worth  that  earth  has  ever 
seen  abides?    And,  as  we  gaze  upon  our  risen 
Lord,  who  could  not  be  holden  of  death,  do  not 
our  hearts  fill  with  a  great  faith  in  the  world 
beyond,  as  the  realest  of  all  realities?    Time 
bears  all  its  sons  away;  so  that  without  this 
solemn  faith  in  the  sureness  of  another  world 

67 


68 


TCbe  mvinc  Dnrsuft 


!   i 


1)1 


—a  faith  which  nowhere  becomes  a  certainty 
except  in  Him  who  rose  from  the  dead— the 
contemplation  of  life  would  move  us  to  inex- 
pressible  sadness.  Could  any  thought  be  sad- 
der  than  that  the  past  was  dead,  and  would 
never  live  again-all  the  brave  life  and  high 
hope  lost  in  thick  night,  vanished  into  a  silence 
that  has  never  been  broken? 

Never  but  once:  and  that  once  in  a  voice  of 
wondrous  grace,  and  by  a  figure  of  more  than 
earthly  glory.     The  figure  was  that  of  Jesus  the 
Christ,  with  the  nail  prints  yet  clear  upon  His 
hands;  and  the  voice  said:  '•Peace."    Almost 
any  voice  from  within  so  thick  a  veil  would 
have  been  welcome;  it  would  have  borne  to  us 
the  assurance  that  the  dear  dead,  whom  we 
had  watched  with  struggling  hope  till  we  had 
to  say  the  stern  good-bye,  still  were,  however 
shadowy  and  joyless  their  life  might  be.     But 
that  the  only  voice  which   ever  rang  across 
from  their  world  to  ours  should  utter  a  word 
of  peace!     What  balm  to  tired  and  restless 
hearts!    In  the  grateful  stillness  of  this  Easter 
day,  let  us  listen:  and,  borne  across  the  Sab- 


H  iPotcc  from  Bnotbcr  TRttorlb    69 

bath  breeze  into  the  world  of  our  unrest  from 
a  world  which  ioo  seldom  haunts  our  imagina- 
tion and  a  Saviour  whose  words  have  too  little 
power  over  us,  comes  the  soothing  sound  of 
peace.  Do  you  not  hear  it?  "Jesus  came" 
out  of  the  invisible  A7orld  "and  stood  in  the 
midst,  and  saith  unto  them,  'Peace  be  unto 
you.  •  "  Are  you  not  glad?  And  will  you  not 
praise  Him,  who  is  the  health  of  your  counte- 
nance? The  unfulfilled  promise  and  the  baffled 
effort  of  the  past  are  not  dead:  they  have  only 
gone  up  higher  to  the  quiet  land,  where  they 
will  know  the  power  of  an  endless  life. 

On  the  dawn  of  the  first  Easter  morning  a 
weeping  woman  stood  beside  a  grave.  And  on 
the  evening  of  that  day,  within  closed  doors,  a 
band  of  sorrowful  men  met  together  with  fear 
in  their  hearts,  "fear  of  the  Jews."  The 
woman  was  weeping,  and  the  men  were  sad 
because  they  had  lost  Jesus.  He  had  gone 
away,  and  He  had  not  come  back  again.  And 
their  hearts  were  sore,  and  their  hopes  were 
dead.  But  "Jesus  came."  Out  of  the  awful 
silence  into  which  men  thought  they  had  put 


'i 
i 


«'• 


»•  Zbt  9ivinc  Dursnit 

him  forever,  He  came.    Came  into  the  garden 
*nd  said,  "Mary";  and  a  wild  joy  filled  her 
heart:    "I  have  seen  the  Lord."    Came  again 
at  the  close  of  the  day  to  the  forlorn  and  ter- 
rifled  band,  and  said:  "Peace  be  unto  you." 
This  was  not  merely  the  familiar  greeting  of 
friend  to  friend-though  it  was  that-in  that 
strange  moment  when  two  worlds  met.    Nor 
was  it  merely  a  kindly  word-though  that  it 
was,  too-to  pacify  their  terror,  as  this  appari- 
tion  from  another  world  stood  silently  and  sud- 
denly  before  them.    It  was  a  word  of  larger 
more  majestic  scope.     Spoken  to  men  who  had 
met   in   fear,  and   who   looked   forward   to 
troubled  days,  it  had  a  wondrous  power  to 
soothe,  coming  from   the  lips  of  the  Lord, 
fresh   from  His  victory  over   death.    "The 
disciples,  therefore,  were  glad  when  they  saw 
the  Lord,"  glad  with  a  great  gladness  which 
we  cannot  know  till  we  have  fathomed  the 
depths  of  their  sorrow  and  despair  as  they  saw 
Jesus  taken  from  His  cross  and  laid  in  Joseph's 
tomb.    Jesus  is  strangely  earnest  about  this 
peace.    Those  worn,  hunted  men  need  it;  and 


a  Voice  from  Bnotbec  TRIlorl5    71 

He  will  not  leave  them  till  He  has  made  them 
sure  of  it  "Jesus,  therefore,  said  to  them 
again,  'Peace  be  unto  you.'  " 

The  vision  of  the  risen  Christ,  with  a  mes- 
sage of  peace  upon  His  lips,  turned  the  disciples' 
terror  into  gladness,  and  still  to-day  are  that 
vision  and  that  message  mighty  to  save  from 
any  grief  or  fear  that  frets  us.  To  all  who 
face  sorrow,  defeat,  bereavement,  death,  the 
Easter  voice  says,  "Peace  be  unto  you"— a 
voice  from  a  world  wherein  these  things  have 
all  been  swallowed  up  in  victory. 

Why  art  thou  then  cast  down,  O  my  soul? 
and  why  art  thou  disquieted  within  me?  Hope 
thou  in  God  the  Father  and  in  Jesus  Christ  His 
Son,  who  is  the  first-fruits  of  them  that  have 
fallen  asleep. 


f 


M 


44  • 


'TRBbcre  tbc  Sptrtt  of  tbc  Xorb  l«, 
tbere  is  libectp." 


i 


ml 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  LORD 

In  every  art  the  master  is  free.    He  can 
create  and  control.    Rules  do  not  determine 
him;  precedents  do  not  bind  him.    Where  the 
spirit  of  the  master  is,  there  is  liberty.     He 
breaks  old  laws  and  makes  new  ones.     He 
even  dispenses  with   laws,  not   becanse   he 
despises  them,  but  because  he  is  a  law  unto 
himself.    The  law  is  in  his  heart,  and  he  ex- 
presses it  as  he  will.    His  fingers  move  across 
the  organ  keys,  and  he  fills  the  listening  air 
with  forms,  now  soft  as  the  moonlight,  now 
wild  as  the  storm.     They  are  bom,  not  of 
rule,  but  of  the  spirit. 

And  as  in  art,  so  in  life.  Where  the  Spirit 
of  the  Master  is,  there  is  liberty.  Yet  who  en- 
joys  it?  Are  we  not  the  veriest  slaves,  bound 
by  our  past  and  our  parentage,  our  habits  and 
our  sins,  our  education  and  our  society?  From 
behind  the  thick  walls  and  the  barred  windows 

7S 


7« 


tCbe  9ivin€  tnum 


we  look  out  upon  a  world  of  moving  life  and 
beauty.     But  we  cannot  reach  it:  for  we  have 
not  the  Spirit  of  the  Lord.    Let  that  Spirit  but 
•tir  within  the  heart  of  any  prisoner,  and  the 
walls,  be  they  never  so  thick,  and  the  bars,  be 
they  never  so  heavy,  will  vanish  as  before'the 
breath  of  Ood,  and  he  shall  be  out  in  the  open 
•gain,  with   the    blue   above   him,  and   the 
spacious  kindly  earth  around  him,  free  to.move 
whithersoever  the  Spirit  leads  him.     For  the 
Spirit  is  sure  to  carry  him  somewhere,  not  im- 
possibly  into  yet  untrodden  paths,  not  improb. 
ably  among  wild  beasts.     But  he  will  walk  and 
not  be  afraid;  for  he  is  led  of  the  Spirit,  and 
the  Spirit  knows. 

The  world  with  its  social  and  international 
problems,  the  Church  with  her  perplexities  of 
creed  and  organization,  need  now  and  ever 
men  filled  with  the  Spirit.  Men  there  are, 
enough  and  to  spare,  of  the  letter:  men  who 
cannot  take  a  brave  step  forward  unless  they 
see  the  footprints  of  a  bolder  than  they.  Not 
by  such  are  the  new  heavens  and  the  new 
earth  ushered  ia      The  worid  is  lifted  and 


trbc  Spirit  ot  tb<  Xor5  97 

moved  by  the  men  of  the  Spirit,  for  they  alone 
enjoy  the  freedom  under  which  progress  is  pos- 
sible.    They  strike  a  blow  as  the  world  needs 
and  the  Spirit  bids,  and  do  not  tremble  though 
their  blow  should  be  the  first;    some  blow 
must  be  first.     Meaner  natures  hide  behind 
convention;  will  do  nothing  which  cannot  be 
supported  by  precedent.      Free  men   create 
precedent,  and  thereby  show  the  deepest  re- 
spect of  all  for  the  past.     To  them  the  past  is 
not  an  incubus  but  an  inspiration.     All  that  is 
best  in  it  was  created  by  men  who  looked  at 
life  and  Scripture  with  their  own  eyes  and 
reached  their  own  conclusions;  and  we  do  them 
the  deepest  of  all  wrongs  when  we  look  or  try 
to  look  through  their  eyes  and  abide  or  try 
to  abide  by  their  conclusions.    All  that  is  per- 
manent in  the  work  of  the  fathers  is  the  spirit 
in  which  it  was  done.     Their  institutions  and 
results  are  not  final  for  us  any  more  than  are 
ours  for  the  man  of  the  aftertime.     The  free 
man  would  neither  bind  nor  be  bound. 

Difficulties  and  doubts  demand  originality, 
and  that  only  the  man  of  the  Spirit  possesses. 


f>, 


ill 


;j  j| 


H'JI 


i^il 


78 


libc  5)lv(nc  pursmt 


He  cannot  be  commonplace,  even  if  he  would- 
the  Spirit  will  not  let  him.    He  sees  problems' 
many  and  hard  enough,  in  Church  and  State' 
learns  for  their  solution  all  that  the  past  can 
teach,  and  trusts  for  the  rest  to  the  Spirit 
within  him.     "If  ye  are  led  by  the  Spirit  ye 
are  not  under  the  law."    Christ  was  beside 
Himself;   so  said  His  own  kin.     He  had  a 
devil;  so  said  the  leaders  of  the  Church.     And 
all  because  His  methods  were   not   conven- 
tional;  all  because  He  was  free,  obeying  the 
impulse  of  the  mighty  Spirit  within.     So  the 
men  of  the  Spirit  have  often  been  branded  as 
fools    and   heretics  by  a  world  which   they 
turned    upside    down-small    wonder!-and 
oftentimes  they  have  had  to  fight  single  handed 
with  their  back  against  the  wall,  not  counting 
their  life  or  their  reputation  dear  to  them  if 
only  they  were  privileged  to  do  what  they  coild 
for  a  thankless  generation,  and  to  testify  to  the 
might  and  immortal  presence  of  the  Spirit 
who  strengthened  their  heart  when  hosts  en' 
camped  against  them. 
Where  the  Spirit  of  the  Lord  is,  there  is  lib- 


Vbe  Spirit  ot  tbe  Xorb         79 

crty.    Liberty,  but  not  license;  for  liberty  is 
only  possible  within  law.     The  free  man  is 
only  free  to  act  in  the  Spirit  of  the  Lord,  to 
move  within  the  world  of  hopes  and  energies 
created  by  Him.    But  what  a  world !    For  «// 
things  are  yours,  and  ye  are  Christ's.     If  lib- 
erty is  law,  yet  law  is  liberty.     The  heart  made 
free  by  the  indwelling  presence  of  Christ  will 
express  her  emotions,  her  hopes,  her  faiths,  in 
language  which  may  send  a  thrill  of  astonish- 
ment through  the  conventional  religious  world. 
There  is  so  much  unreality  everywhere  that 
the  world  will  always  marvel,  as  it  did  of  old, 
when  it  hears  the  voice  of  one  who  speaks  with 
authority,  and  not  as  the  scribes;  and  it  may 
seek  to  silence  such  a  voice  by  ridicule,  by 
excommunication,  by  the  cross,  according  to 
the  temper  of  the  age.     But  till  it  is  silenced 
the  speaker  must  speak,  and  the  thinker  must 
think,  and  the  fighter  must  nght;  for  the  Spirit 
must  fulfil  itself.    On  the  face  of  dark  and 
troubled    waters    the  Spirit    moves;    mover, 
because  it  must.     The  Spirit— for  wind  and 
spirit  are  alike  in  the  Greek— the  Spirit  blow- 


I 


li-'I 


^  tbe  S)ivine  l^nrsttit 

iih.    And  to  men,  stifled  in  the  atmosphere  of 
precedent   and   prejudice,   welcome   are   the 
breercs  that  blow  from  the  Alpine  heights  of 
some  strong  nature  in  whom  the  Spirit  dwells. 
The  Spirit  bloweth  where  it  listeth,  not  in  the 
wake  of  some  other  spirit,  but  where  it  will; 
for  it  is  original  and  free.    Jesus  breathed  His 
Spirit    upon    twelve    unheard-of   men:    and 
ancient  faiths  crumbled  at  their  touch.     He 
breathed  upon  a  German  miner's  son:  an  old 
church  tottered,  and  a  new  world  burst  into 
being.    If  He  breathe  upon  us,  may  we  not  da 
things  as  great  as  these? 


**t)c  flivctb  unto  Dfs  belovc&  in  sleep.' 


i 


THE  SLEEP  OF  FAITH 

Faith  without  work  is  vain;   faith  without 
rest  is  impossible.     The  long  day  tries  the 
sweetest  patience,  strains  the  strongest  nerves. 
Then  come  the  hours  of  quiet  and  rest,  when 
men  may  look  up  to  God  and  renew  their 
strength.    The  sunshine  may  tempt  a  vigorous 
worker  to  self-reliance.     Even  though  under 
the  shadow  of  a  great  trust,  the  worker  begins 
to  feel  sure  of  himself,  as  he  sees  the  work 
growing  beneath  his  hands.    Yet  no  worker  is 
safe  until  he  is  also  sure  of  God:  and  that 
sureness  he  learns  in  the  silence,  when  the  day 
is  done.    As  he  lifts  up  his  eyes  from  his  work 
to  the  stars,  the  peace  of  the  stars  comes  back 
upon  him,  and  soothes  him  into  deep  thoughts 
of  eternity.    God's  gifts  are  not  over  when  the 
sun  sinks  in  the  west     Into  the  silence  that 
follows  He  continues  to  pour  them;  for  "He 
giveth  to  His  beloved  in  sleep." 

83 


«4  trbe  Dli^ine  pntem 

In  sleep.    What  means  then  the  cruel  haite, 
with  which  we  rush  across  our  little  life  and 
wear  our  strength  and  fret  our  hearts  away? 
What  means  this  great  unrest  with  which  all 
our  life  is  smitten,  and  which  thi-eatens  not  to 
let  us  go  till  it  destroys  us?    On  almost  every 
face  are  lines  that  tell  of  a  strain  too  sore. 
Where  have   those  faces   gone,  those   quiet 
other-worldly  faces,  that  look  so  gently  upon 
us  from  the  portraits  of  the  middle  ages  as  if 
in  sad  and  silent  pity  at  the  foolish   haste 
which  hides  from  us  the  eternal  peace?    All 
the  world  is  busy:  never  has  more  work  been 
done  than  to-day.     And  yet  there  is  much  that 
we  cannot  do.    With  our  splendid  gains  have 
gone  tragic  losses.     We  have  lost  the  desire 
almost  the  power,  to  read  aloud   round  the 
family  hearth,  lost  the  love  of  loneliness,  lost 
the  delight  in  pastures  green  and  waters  of 
quietness,  lost  the  faith  which  can  rest  and 
wait  patiently  in  the  stillness  to  hear  what  God 
the  Lord  will  say.     Thomas  k  Kempis  would 
look  strangely  out  of  place  among  us;  but  not 
more  strange  than  we  should  look  in  the  rest 


Ubc  Sleep  of  f  aftb 


«$ 


that  remaineth,  if  we  have  never  had  a  fore< 
taste  of  it  here. 

We  are  gaining  the  world  and  losing  our 
sottl.  How  can  we  hope  to  possess  the  great 
God,  unless  we  first  possess  ourselves?  and 
how  can  we  possess  ourselves  unless  we  come 
apart  for  a  little  while  from  the  work  which  is 
draining  our  life-blood,  and  sit  down  in  a 
desert  place  alone  with  our  own  hearts  and 
God?  All  work  is  vain  that  is  not  inspired  by  i 
a  vision  and  sustained  by  a  strength  won  in 
quiet  hours.  "It  is  vain  for  you  that  ye  rise 
up  early,  and  so  late  sit  down  to  the  evening 
meal."  Vain:  for  it  is  costing  you  strength 
which  you  are  not  renewing.  Vain,  too:  for 
the  nervous  eagerness  to  work  so  hard  in  the 
sunshine  and  so  deep  into  the  night,  looks  as  if 
you  thought  too  highly  of  the  work  of  yoiu* 
own  hands,  and  had  forgotten  that  there  is 
Another  who  watches  over  you  and  your  work 
with  loving  eyes.  One  who  works  with  you, 
and  works  evermore,  who  slumbers  not  nor 
sleeps.  The  hours  in  which  you  rest  the 
weary  hand  and  the  jaded  brain  are  not  to  be 


'II 


86 


Vbe  Divine  Part  nit 


counted  at  lost.  They  may  bless  you  more 
than  the  struggle  and  toil  of  the  day:  for  "He 
giveth  to  His  beloved  in  sleep."  The  faith 
which  would  be  strong  must  learn  to  fold  her 
hands  and  bend  her  knees  as  well  as  ply  her 

j  tools;  she  must  sit  with  Mary  as  well  as  serve 

'  with  Martha. 

We  read  in  a  Psalm  of  an  ancient  church 
worn  by  her  own  feverish  restlessness.     She 
has  a  great  impelling  faith  in  God:  the  house 
which  she  is  building  is  probably  God's  house 
and  the  city  which  she  is  watching,  the  Holy 
City.     No  idle  church  is  she:  she  believes  in 
workmg  out  her  own  salvation.     There  is  a 
fierce,  almost  relentless,  persistency  about  her 
enthusiasm.     She  spares  no  efFort  to  compass 
the  good  end:  lengthens  her  day  of  toil,  short- 
ens her  night  of  rest.     You  can  see  the  busy 
workmen  on  the  walls,  and  listen  to  the  steady 
tramp    of    the    watchmen    as    they  go  their 
rounds.     You  can  hear  the  stroke  of  the  ham- 
mer,  and  mark  the  eager  strain  of  the  watch, 
men's  eyes.    The  building  rises  visibly  every 
day:   for  the  work  goes  on  in  hot  haste,  from 


Vbe  Sleep  ot  f  aftb  $j 

early  morning   till   late   evening.     A   noble 
church!    with   enthusiasm,  energy,  industry, 
devotion.    Yet  she  has  to  learn  that  energy 
can   only   be   sustained   by   meditation   and 
repose,  that  the  building  of   walls  and   the 
watching  of  cities  can  only  be  safely  left  to 
men  who  know  how  weak  they  are,  and  how  ^ 
sorely  they  need  the  help  of  the  Unseen.     She 
has  so  much  faith  in  herself  that  she  too  easily 
forgets  that  it  is  God   that  worketh.      Her 
builders  are  so  busy  and  their  tools  make  such 
a  din  that  they  cannot  hear  the  voice  of  God; 
her  walls  are  rising  so  high  that  they  are  shut- 
ting  out  the  heavens.     She  must  put  down  her 
tools,  hasten  home  earlier  to  the  evening  meal, 
give  herself  over  to  restful  household  joys, 
take  quiet  rest  and  sleep:   and  there  she  will 
build  by  the  grace  of  God  what  she  could  not 
build  in  the  bustle  of  the  day— self-knowledge, 
patient    strength,    faith   in    the    power   that 
haunts  the  silences.     He  giveth  to  His  beloved 
in  sleep.     For  such  workers  that  is  the  one 
thing  needful :  they  must  learn  to  come  home 
earlier,  and  spend  the  closing  hours  of  the  day 


fc 


88 


TTbe  9ivint  Pnrsnit 


In  undlstracted  peace,  leaving  the  walls  and 
the  city  to  God. 

The  modern  church  no  less  than  the  ancient, 
and  all  men  and  women  who  love  their  sonls, 
need  to  take  to  heart  the  admonition  of  the 
Psalmist.    Life  is  rushing,  as  it  never  rushed 
before.     In  all   directions    walls  are  rising, 
watchmen  are  watching,  effort  is  being  ex* 
pended,  money  is  being  squandered,  strength 
is  being  wasted,  lives  are  being  laid  down. 
But  "it  is  vain  for  you":  you  make  progress 
in  every  direction  but  one— in  that  one  which 
is  the  condition  of  all  progress:  the  power  to 
stand  back  from  the  crowd,  and  enter  into  pos- 
session of  your  own  soul;  the  delight  in  soli- 
tude,  in  brooding,  in  repose,  in  "sleep."    It  is 
there  that  His  beloved  win  their  best  gifts, 
and  build  their  stateliest  walls;  it  is  there  that 
they  see  visions  and  dream  dreams.     For  it  is 
there,  in  the  stillness,  that  they  learn  at  once 
the  importance  and  the  unimportance  of  their 
own  effort:  it  is  there  that  they  win  that  self- 


control,  that  steadiness 
which  they  need  when 
the  city  or  the  temple  walla 


of  hand  and  of  purpose 
they  go  out  to  build 


*K 


Ibave  tbi0  mind  in  yon,  wbfcb  wad 
al0o  in  CbxiBt  Hbub,** 


mi 


MICROCOPY  RBOIUTION  TBT  CHART 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


A    /APPLIED  IN/U^E 


Inc 


16S3  East  Main  Strtct 

Rocht«t«r,   Nam   York        U609       USA 

(716)  482  -  0300  -  Phoiw 

(716)  288  -  S989  -  Fa« 


THE  MIND  OF  CHRIST 

"Have  this  mind  in  you,"  urged  the  apostle, 
••which  was  also  in  Christ  Jesus."    What  an 
appeal!    We  sink  in  despair  under  the  weight 
of  its  magnificence.     Oh,  wretched  man  that  I 
am,  mock  not  my  weakness  with  such  a  dream 
of  the  impossible.     The  mind  of  Christ  Jesus 
within  me!    Such  a  mind  as  His  in  such  an 
one  as  I!    It  may  not  be.     The  apostle  sum- 
mons me  to  a  height  too  steep  for  me,  for  any 
man.    Were  it  not  enough  that  I  should  follow 
afar  oflf  in  the  footsteps  of  Jesus,  speak  His 
words  of  grace,  and  do  His  deeds  of  love,  so 
far  as  in  my  weakness  I  may,  in  lowly  imita- 
tion of  my  unapproachable  Lord?    What  He 
did,  that  I  will  seek  to  do.     I  will  study  the 
story  of  His  life,  with  eager  eye  for  all  that  I 
can  make  my  own,  and  with  a  half  wistful 
regret  that  there  is  so  much  into  which  I  can- 
not follow  Him.    I  am  not  led  into  the  wilder- 

91 


i'l 


ii! 

m 


9» 


TCbc  ©ipinc  purauft 


ness  wxth  its  wild  beasts.  I  am  not  without  a 
place  to  lay  my  head.  I  am  not  brought  like  a 
lamb  to  the  slaughter.    Since,  then,  there  is 

so  much  of  His  that  can  never  be  mine,  I  have 
all  the  more  need  to  touch  His  life  where  He 
touches  mine,  and  take  that  as  the  goal  of  all 
my  striving.     It  is  hard  to  live  in  these  days 
with  the  Lord  so  far  away,  and  with  no  final 
word  of  His  for  so  many  of  the  cares  that  per- 
Plex  me.     Had  I  lived  then  or  were  He  living 
now,  how  much  more  possible  to  be  like  Himt 
H,s  every  d^ed  and  word  would  stand  out  clear 
to  copy;  the  brightness  of  His  example  would 
Illumine  all  my  way. 

To  argue  thus  is  to  mistake  the  nature  of  our 
calling.     It  is  the  glory  of  our  religion  that 
there  IS  so  little  in  the  life  of  our  Lord  we  can 
directly  imitate.     His  outer  life  we  can  never 
live  again.     Our  world  is  not  His  world;  new 
needs  and  problems  confront  us;  and  in  the 
maze  of  the   modem    world    we   would    be 
as  pilgrims  without  a  guide,  did  we  seek  in 
our   Lord  for  One  whom    we   might    in  all 
thmgs  imitate.     But,  says   the  apostle  else- 


Zbt  Obinb  ot  Cbriet 


93 


where,  "we  have  the  mind  of  Christ";  and, 
having  that,  we  have  a  power  within  us  that 
will  satisfy  every  need  and  solve  every  prob- 
lem. The  apostle,  who  knew  the  frailty 
of  the  flesh  as  few  have  known  it,  could 
yet  claim  to  have  the  mind  of  the  Lord,  and 
into  possession  of  that  mind  he  would  urge  us. 
And  when  we  possess  His  mind,  we  will  not 
imitate  Him,  because  we  will  not  need.  Imi- 
tation is  the  insincerest  flattery,  the  insincerest 
and  the  most  indolent,  for  it  is  an  appeal  to 
externals,  an  appeal  which  it  is  the  genius  of 
Christianity  to  repudiate.  Whatever  we  imi- 
tate,  we  betray. 

At  all  times  in  the  history  of  the  Church, 
great  religious  movements,  which  had  a  noble 
passion  at  the  heart  of  them,  have  fallen  into 
ridicule  and  ultimate  ruin,  because  they  looked 
more  to  the  manner  than  to  the  mind  of  Christ, 
more  to  the  detail  which  changes  with  the 
changing  age,  than  to  the  mind,  which  abides, 
renews  and  transforms. 

But  the  dream,  the  imperative  of  the  apos- 
tle, which  thrilled  while  it  seemed  to  mock  us 


94 


TCbe  Dii^fne  purauit 


i  1 


i 


|i'  ;    ! 


— "have  that  mind  in  you" — has  become  in  his 
own  experience  the  soberest  fact:  "  We  have 
the  mind  of  Christ."  In  those  two  passages 
the  Greek  word  and  the  context  differ;  but  the 
thought  in  both  is  much  the  same,  that  we 
weak  and  erring  men  may  have  within  us  the 
mind  of  Christ,  that  mind  which  seeks  not  its 
own,  which  knows  no  doubt  and  no  unrest. 
Then  there  would  be  no  feverish,  spasmodic 
yearning  to  imitate  this  or  that,  but  a  slow, 
sure,  quiet  transformation  of  ourselves  and  of 
the  world  by  the  renewing  of  ouv  mind.  To 
live  within  the  mind  of  Jesus  Christ,  to  have 
that  mind  live  within  us,  to  look  out  upon  the 
world  with  the  eyes  of  Christ,  would  be  to  see 
all  nature  melt  into  glory,  lesplendent  with  the 
love  of  God. 

Had  we  but  the  mind  of  Christ,  how  beauti- 
ful upon  mountain  and  meadow  would  the  wild 
flowers  be,  each  one  of  them  fairer  than  Solo- 
mon in  all  his  glory !  How  tenderly  would  we 
see  the  fluttering  life  of  the  sparrow  to  be  up- 
borne on  the  arms  of  eternal  love!  How 
pathetic  would  be  the  sight  of  men  crowding 


tTbe  Atn5  of  Cbcftt 


95 


through  the  wide  gate,  and  saantering  down 
the  broad  way  that  leadeth  to  destruction! 
How  immeasurable  would  become  the  worth  of 
the  soul  of  every  brother  man,  into  whose  eyes 
we  looked  with  the  eyes  of  Christ:  of  more 
value  than  many  sparrows,  yea,  than  the  whole 
world!  Had  we  but  the  mind  of  Christ,  our 
hearts  would  fill  with  holy  rapture  at  the 
vision  of  God. 

"My  GodI  how  woaderful  Thou  art, 
Thy  Mfijesty  how  bright ! 
How  beautiful  Thy  mercy-seat, 
In  depths  of  burning  light!" 


I 


•ii 


m 
m 


i  ' 


"®  aiitd  unto  tbc  lotD  a  new  sona, 


*» 


i  I 


U 


\f^ 


r  I 


n  'I 


P  n 


A  NEW  SONG 

Au  old  song  can  always  count  upon  a  wel- 
come,  formal  if  not  hearty.  But  a  new  song ! 
Pew  have  the  courage  to  aise  it,  and  many 
and  loud  and  discordant  are  the  voices  that 
strive  to  drown  it.  The  old  songs  are  safe; 
they  do  not  disturb  the  equanimity  of  the 
powers  that  be.  To  the  majority  a  new  song 
is  a  challenge  to  be  answered  by  shouts  if  not 
execrations.  At  least  such  has  been  the  re- 
ception which  the  religious  world  has  usually 
accorded  to  new  singers  and  their  songs. 
Ears  accustomed  to  celestial  harmonies  are 
chary  of  songs  which  might  turn  out  to  be 
earthborn.  And  wisely,  for  the  new  might  be 
but  a  Siren  voice  which  lures  men  to  their  de- 
struction. But  the  present  has  its  gracious  and 
inspiring  melodies,  as  well  as  the  past,  and  he 
that  hath  ears  to  hear,  let  him  hear. 

Once  there  came  a  Singer  from  heaven  to 

99 


Bl 


lOO 


tCbe  Divine  pursuit 


earth.  He  brought  with  Him  a  sweeter  song 
than  mortal  ear  had  ever  heard  before.  For 
He  sang  of  a  royal  Father's  love  and  pity  for 
all  His  wandering  children,  and  of  a  peace  into 
which  men  might  enter  who  would  become  as 
little  children.  One  or  two  listened,  and  won< 
dered,  and  followed.  But  the  leaders  of  the 
Church  would  none  of  His  song.  It  was  too  new, 
too  strange,  too  improbable,  too  irritating,  to 
those  conventional  ears.  So  they  brought  Him 
to  a  cross  and  howled  at  Him  in  His  agony; 
and  His  new  song  was  shouted  down  by  a  reck* 
less  rabble.  "Away  with  Him,  away  with 
Him, ' '  they  cried.  And  there  the  song  seemed 
to  end. 

But  it  was  too  true  to  die.  Soon  it  was 
taken  up  again  by  a  bold,  brave  singer. 
Stephen  felt,  as  few  to  whom  he  ministered, 
that  the  message  of  Jesus  was  indeed  a  new 
song,  that  it  ushered  men  into  a  richer,  freer, 
fuller  world  than  that  into  which  they  had  been 
bom.  But  those  who  listened  to  him  cared 
little  for  a  message  which  denied  their  fancied 
prerogative,  and  which  shook  their  conven* 


a  flew  Sona 


let 


tteiul  belief  in  their  Pentateuch.  The  song 
WM  new,  and,  therefore,  heretical.  They 
would  not  listen  to  one  who  spoke  unconven. 
tional  things  about  their  Temple  and  their 
Bible,  and  the  Jesus  who  was  to  change  the 
customs  which  Moses  delivered  unto  them. 
They  had  a  rough  and  ready  way  of  stopping 
the  song.  As  he  sang  of  the  opened  heavens 
"and  the  Son  of  man  standing  on  the  right 
hand  of  God,  they  cried  out  with  a  loud  voice 
and  stopped  their  ears,  and  rushed  upon  him 
with  one  accord;  and  they  cast  him  out  of  the 
city  and  stoned  him."  Often  in  life,  and 
sometimes  in  death,  it  has  gone  hard  with 
them,  those  singers  of  the  new  song. 

The  singers  might  be  slain,  but  the  song 
could  not  cease.  When  Stephen  died,  "wit- 
nesses laid  down  their  garments  at  the  feet  of 
a  young  man  named  Saul,"  and  the  echo  of 
Stephen's  dying  song  lived  in  this  young  man's 
heart.  He,  too,  came  in  the  providence  of 
God  to  see  that  men  were  not  saved  by  the  law 
of  Moses,  and  that  Jesus  was  the  Saviour  of  the 
Greek  as  well  as  of  the  Jew.     Simple  truths  to 


f 

'I 


J.'ill'i 


loa 


Ube  S)ivine  pursuit 


us ;  but  not  simple,  not  even  credible  to  the 
average  man  of  that  day,  with  his  veneration 
for  a  misunderstood  and  misinterpreted  past. 
So  the  great  apostle  is  denounced  as  an  arch- 
heretic,  who  "teacheth  all  men  everywhere 
against  the  people,  and  the  law. "  And  there  is 
great  uproar  in  the  Holy  City,  and  the  people 
run  together,  and  some  shout  one  thing  and 
some  another,  but  all  alike  agree  in  shouting 
"Away  with  him!"  Then  he  begins  his  great 
defence.  They  listen  with  toleration  while 
the  notes  are  familiar;  but  when  the  first  great 
imfamiliar  note  is  struck,  they  reply  to  it  with 
the  shout  of  fiends,  "Away  with  such  a  fellow 
from  the  earth:  for  it  is  not  fit  that  he  should 
live." 

But  no  shouting  of  cruel  or  silly  mobs  can 
permanently  stifle  the  song  of  ood.  On  it 
rang,  more  or  less  clearly,  down  the  centuries, 
till  in  a  dark  time  it  seemed  as  if  all  holy 
melody  was  dead.  Then  a  mighty  voice  broke 
the  astonished  silence,  proclaiming  that  the 
forgiving  grace  of  Grod  could  not  be  sold  by 
huckstering  priests,  but  was  free  to  every  sin- 


I  i 


a  Hew  sottd  103 

ner  who  would  in  faith  and  penitence  accept 
of  it.    Not  a  few  welcomed  the  voice  as  God's. 
But  some  were  in  perplexity,  and  the  highest 
religious  authorities  were  for  stifling  it  in  fire 
and  smoke.    "As  the  matter  seems  to  me  " 
said  a  merchant  of  those  days,  "Luther  must 
either  be  an  angel  from  heaven  or  a  devil  from 
hell."    And  the  Papal  bull  declared  that  all 
his  books  should  be  publicly  burned,  and  that 
"as  a  stiffnecked  heretic,  and  a  withered  branch 
of  the  vine  of  Christ,  he  should  be  punished" 
with  fire.     The  song  was  new;  church  and 
state  must  unite  in  suppressing  it.     It  has  ever 
been  a  crime  to  sing  the  new  song. 

May  it  not  be  that  our  days  are  cast  in  just 
such  another  epoch?  Many  workers  in  many 
fields  have  been  patientiy  and  reverently  study- 
ing  the  ways  of  God.  They  have  seen  how 
like  Israel  was  in  language  and  religion  to  her 
neighbors,  and  yet  how  unlike;  so  unlike  that 
only  the  finger  of  God  could  have  shaped  the 
difference.  They  have  seen  Israel  take  her 
place  in  the  history  of  the  great  empires  by 
which  she  was  surrounded,  and  dark  places  in 


it 
r 

I., 


Z04 


Ube  S)ivine  pursuit 


I  f 


her  literature  illuminated  by  the  monuments 
of  foreign  kings.  They  have  seen  her  religion 
purified  by  conflict  and  by  revelation,  so  as  to 
worthily  prepare  the  way  for  Jesus.  They  have 
seen  the  increasing  purpose  that  runs  through 
all  nature  and  all  history.  And  now  critics 
and  historians,  scientists  and  philosophers, 
smitten  by  the  glory  they  have  seen,  are  rais- 
ing a  new  song  to  the  Lord  for  the  wonders 
He  hath  wrought.  It  becomes  us  to  beware 
lest  we  be  numbered  among  those  who  would 
have  stoned  Stephen,  and  shouted  to  Paul, 
"Away  with  him." 

Every  old  song  was  once  new:  in  time  every 
new  song  will  be  old.  Truth  is  truth  before  it 
is  universally  acknowledged.  If  there  is  dan- 
ger in  accepting  that  which  is  new,  there  is  at 
least  as  much  danger  in  rejecting  it  without 
examination :  for  we  may  thereby  be  found  to 
be  fighting  against  God.  For  any  new  light 
that  He  vouchsafes  to  our  day  and  generation, 
we  shall  lift  up  united  hearts  of  thankfulness 
to  Him.  As  our  souls  rise  on  the  visions  of 
this  book,  with  the  new  light  of  God  upon  it, 


i    I 


a  WCW  Song  ro5 

let  us  say  with  His  ancient  people,  as  they 
gratefully  worshiped  within  the  courts  of 
their  re-built  Temple: 

"O  sing  unto  the  Lord  a  new  song: 
Sing  unto  the  Lord  all  the  earth. 
Let  the  heavens  be  glad  and  let  the  earth  rejoice." 


\i 


"Solomon  (n  all  bis  fliors  was  not 
accayeD  Ulte  one  o(  tbese." 


II 


ipl 


t  i 


ONE  OF  THESE 


You  cannot  look  upon  a  summer  field  or 
hillside— not,  at  least,  if  you  have  a  heart  at 
all— without  thrilling  in  mysterious  response 
to  the  gentle  glory  of  the  wild  flowers  which 
adorn  it     But  did  you  realize,  as  you  looked, 
the  debt  you  owed  to  each  single  flower,  which 
lent  its  own  separate  glory  to  the  total  beauty 
that  delighted   you?    In  the  field  we   must 
not  forget  the  flower,  for  without  the  flower 
the  field  would  not  be  what  it  is.     Every  flower 
has  a  life  and  history  of  its  own,  a  life  more 
real  than  that  of  the  combination  in  which  it 
stands.     Every  flower  is  clothed  with  a  solitary 
glory  of  its  own,  which  is  more  than  a  match 
for  the  most  brilliant  product  of  man's  art. 
"Consider  the  lilies  of  the  field,  how  they  grow; 
they  toil  not,  neither  do  they  spin ;  yet  Solomon 
in  all  his  glory  was  not  arrayed  like  one  of 
these." 

You  go  into  a  wood  and  listen  with  delight 

109 


L 


no 


Vbe  Divine  pnteuit 


and  wonder  to  the  shower  of  melody  that  pours 
down  from  countless  tiny  throats.  You  hear 
the  harmony,  but  you  do  not  think  of  the  sin- 
gle strains  out  of  which  it  is  woven.  Yet 
every  little  songster  has  a  life  of  his  own,  joys 
and  cares  and  a  music  all  his  own.  Little 
worth  he  may  be  in  the  eyes  of  the  world:  two 
for  a  farthing.  When  one  falls,  nobody  knows 
and  nobody  cares.  Nobody  but  God;  and  He 
cares  for  everyone.  "Not  one  of  them  shall 
fall  on  the  ground  without  your  Father." 

The  bird  is  more  than  the  flower,  for  its  life 
is  richer.  The  child  is  more  than  either,  for 
his  capacity  is  all  but  infinite.  He  is  made  in 
the  image  of  God.  Out  of  his  mouth  may  flow 
blessing  or  cursing.  He  has  it  in  him  to  be 
»"Ofel  or  devil.  A  great  gathering  of  innocent 
children  may  touch  the  eyes  of  a  strong  man 
to  tears.  But  is  it  less  than  terrible  to  stand 
before  a  single  child  as  father,  teacher,  pastor, 
and  to  feel  that  you  bear  upon  your  conscience 
the  awful  weight  of  his  eternity?  You  may 
speak  to  thousands  and  but  throw  your  words 
away.      But    whoso    shall    receive — and   this 


iiU    ' 


9nt  Of  TEbese  ,„ 

means  loving,  interested  contact^w  little 
child  in  Jesus'  name  receiveth  Jesus;  and 
whoso  shall  cause  one  of  these  little  ones  who 
believe  on  Him,  in  any  way  to  stumble,  by  idle 
word  or  pernicious  example,  it  were  profitable 
for  him  that  a  great  millstone  be  hanged  about 
his  neck,  and  that  he  be  sunk  in  the  depths  of 
the  sea. 

But  more  than  to  the  child  does  a  strange 
significance  attach  to  the  sinner.    As  the  years 
grow,  innocence  droops,  perhaps   dies.     He 
who  was  but  lately  a  child  goes  forth  into  the 
unfeeling  world.     Boldly  indifferent  to  Christ's 
curse  upon  the  tempter,  someone  causes  him 
to  stumble;  or  it  may  be  the  wild  passions  of 
his  own  heart.     The  power  that  is  in  him  he 
has  wielded  for  evil,  and  he  falls.     But  he 
does  not  fall  from  the  pity  of  God.    In  his 
lonehness  he  is  remembered  in  heaven;   and 
when  he  sets  his  face  heavenward  there  is 
great  joy  there.     For  heaven  knows,  as  earth 
can  hardly  know,  the  infinite  value  of  a  human 
soul.    So  "there  is  joy  in  the  presence  of  the 
angels  of  God  over  one  sinner  that  repenteth." 


■■  i 


lit 


Zb€  IDivint  pursuit 


Christ  discovered  the  individual;  let  us  see 
that  we  do  not  lose  him  again.  His  public 
work  brought  ilim  to  the  cross:  His  tender 
and  separate  dealing  with  the  twelve,  with 
each  as  best  suited  his  nature,  transformed 
them  into  men  of  invincible  faith  and  courage, 
and  insured  for  His  gospel  immortality.  A 
woman  at  a  well ;  a  ruler  by  night ;  these  were 
priceless  opportunities  to  One  who  knew  how 
dear  to  God  .was  every  being  made  in  His 
image.  The  best  and  most  lasting  work  is 
seldom,  if  ever,  done  in  an  appeal  to  the 
crowd:  the  effect  is  weak  ed  because  of  the 
larger  area  over  which  it  is  dissipated.  Men 
are  not  saved,  any  more  than  they  are  born, 
in  crowds ;  tliey  are  saved  one  by  one.  Statis- 
tics do  not  count  in  heaven ;  there  is  joy  there 
over  one  sinner  that  repenteth. 

One  of  these!  A  lily  of  the  valley,  a  bird  on 
the  wing,  a  little  child,  an  erring  man:  all 
precious,  because  all  share,  after  their  fashion, 
in  the  love  of  God.  It  is  He  who  clothes  the 
flower  with  glory,  and  upholds  the  bird  in  its 
flight.     It  was  the  Son  of  His  love  who  took 


ii 


^neottbcK  tij 

the  little  children  in  Hii  arm.,  and  gave  Hie 
life  at  last  for  the  ungodly.     And  shall  we 
deny  our  pitiful  measure  of  love  to  that  which 
He  loves  so  dearly-to  the  single  soul,  whose 
repentance  would  rejoice  the  angels  of  God? 
One  of  these  little  children  who  gather  to  our 
schools  every  day  by  the  thousand,  may  pro- 
foundly  affect  the  life   and   thought  of  his 
generation.     One  of  these  who  vehemently 
deny  their  Lord,  whether  with  oath  or  with 
argument,  may  yet,  when  he  turn,  establish 
his  brethren.    So  we  shall  not  despair  of  the 
smallest  or  the  meanest.    The  very  sight  of 
them,  with  the  thought  of  the  unmeasured 
possibilities  that  lie  before  them,  will  urge  us 
on. 

On  all  who  serve  the  kingdom  of  God, 
whether  in  church  or  stote,  in  school  or  fam* 
ily,  the  knowledge  of  the  value  of  the  indi- 
vidual  lays  a  tremendous  responsibility,  and 
carries  with  it  as  profound  an  inspiration. 
Would  it  not  call  out  the  best  that  is  in  us.  and 
would  we  not  serve  with  joy  and  trembling, 
and  would  not  all  our  work  gain  in  dircctnes^ 


I.] 


««4 


Zbt  9ivint  pnrsntt 


and  earneitneM,  did  we  allow  oufMlvet  to  n- 
member  that  every  man,  however  worldly* 
minded  or  profligate,  every  woman,  however 
frivolous  or  sunken,  was  infinitely  worth  the 
striving  for,  and  that  over  even  one  such,  re* 
deemed  from  folly,  there  was  joy  in  the  pres> 
ence  of  the  angels  of  God?  That  schoolmaster 
must  have  put  his  soul  into  his  work,  who  took 
off  his  cap  to  his  boys  every  morning  on  enter- 
ing school,  "as  God  had  perhaps  destined  some 
of  the  boys  to  be  a  preacher  or  a  learned  doc- 
tor." Of  that  true  teacher  we  know  nothing 
more  than  the  name,  Johannes  Trebonius :  one 
of  his  pupils  was  Martin  Luther. 

Those  whose  duty  it  is  to  address  the  crowd 
will  remember  that  their  work  is  less  than 
half  done  unless  it  is  inspired  and  followed  up 
by  earnest,  pleading  love  for  the  individual 
soul.  Those  whose  task  is  in  the  home—and 
this  includes  us  all— will  remember  that  there 
too,  just  where  the  responsibility  is  greatest, 
the  opportunities  are  grandest.  It  lies  largely 
with  us  to  make  the  days  of  our  dear  ones  bit- 
ter or  glad.    And  shall  we  grieve  or  neglect 


9ntetUb€U  115 

the  immortal  tonto  commendtd  to  otir  love  by 
Almightjr  God?  It  lies  whoUy  with  ut  to  direct 
the  damiing  intelligence  of  the  little  children 
toward*  the  things  of  God,  and  to  foster  in  our 
youths  and  maidens  the  love  of  good  and  the 
horror  of  evU.  And  shall  we,  by  our  lack  of 
care  or  conscience,  cause  them  to  stumble? 
Better  for  us  that  a  millstone  were  hanged 
about  our  neck,  and  that  we  wei«  sunk  in  the 
depths  of  the  sea. 


W ' 


i^l;  1 


I  i 


fjl 


*t 


strong  to  appreben^  witb  all  tbe 
daints  wbat  id  tbe  breaOtb  anb  lengtb 
anb  betgbt  anb  beptb,  anb  to  know  tbe 
love  of  Cbrtst" 


ml 


WITH  ALL  THE  SAINTS 


In  two  ways  does  Christ  give  man  his  true 

place.     He  sets  him  alone  beside  God,  as  a  son 

beside  his  Father,  and  shows  him  the  inde- 

feasible  worth  of  his  own  soul,  worth  potential 

if  not  actual ;  for  do  not  the  angels  of  God  sing 

for  joy  over  even  one  sinner  that  repenteth? 

But  He  also  sets  him  in  a  fellowship.     For 

with  cords  of  love  He  has  been  drawing  after 

Him,  throughout  the  long  centuries,  a  great 

multitude  which  no  man  can  number;  and  all 

who  are  drawn  of  Him  should  have  fellowship 

one  with  another.     As  I  am  bound  by  the 

tenderest  ties  to  the  .God  who  created  me  for 

His  service,  and  the  Savior  who  redeemed  me, 

so  I  am  bound  by  bonds  as  strong  as  they  are 

invisible  to  all  who  have  ever  loved  the  Lord 

and  shared  the  redemption  which  He  wrought. 

It  is  not  good,  it  is  not  possible  for  man  to  be 

alone.  -To  be  alone  is  to  die.    We  are  bom 

for  fellowship;  and  our  religion  satisfies  this 

119 


ItO 


Ube  S>it>ine  pursuit 


deep  need  of  our  nature  by  bringing  us  into  a 
society,  a  kingdom,  a  church.  We  look  into 
the  friendly  faces  of  those  who  worship  with 
us,  and  we  are  strong. 

The  great  apostle  bowed  his  knees  in  prayer 
to  the  Father  for  a  well-beloved  Church,  that 
she  might  be  strong  to  apprehend  with  all  the 
saints  what  is  the  breadth  and   length  and 
height  and  depth,  and  to  know  the  love  of 
Christ    which    passeth    knowledge,    that    she 
might  be  filled  unto  all  the  fulness  of  God. 
Did  ever  so  sane  a  man  cherish  an  ambition  so 
wild— "filled  unto  all   the  fulness  of  God?" 
Yet  this  ambition  is  not  the  extravagance  of  an 
over- wrought  enthusiasm.     The  end  is  soberly 
set,   and  the    means    are   adequate,  because 
chosen  in  full  view  of  the  magnificence  of  the 
end.     So  noble  a  purpose  demands  for  its  ful- 
fillment nothing  less  than  all  the  spiritual  force 
■\  available ;   it  may  be  accomplished  only  with 
all  the  saints.     The  heart  leaps  as  the  vision 
unfolds  of  the  splendor  of  the  destiny  to  which 
we  are  summoned,  and  of  the  goodly  fellow- 
ship which  presses  on  with  us  towards  thQ 


II: 


Mttb  an  tbe  Saints  xti 

mtrk,  and  heartens  us  on  the   way  by  its 
strength,  its  experience,  and  its  sympathy. 

The  richest  individual  life  is  poor  in  compari- 
son  with  the  manifold  experience  of  "all  the 
saints.  •  •  Of  the  Churches  which  call  themselves 
catholic,  what  cau  compare  in  catholicity  with 
that  which  includes  all  the  saints,  and  places  at 
the  disoosal  of  every  struggling  soul  for  its 
guidance  and  inspiration,  all  the  wise  thoughts 
with  which  they  have  ever  been  visited,  all  the 
heroic  endurance,  even  unto  death,  with  which 
they  have  sealed  their  testimony,  all  their  love, 
hope,  faith,  joy,  triumph,  all  their  vision  of 
eternal  things  unseen? 

All  that  is  ours ;  and  yet  it  is  not  ours.  For 
we  will  not  appropriate  it.  Saints  of  other 
communions  and  distant  lands  come  and  lay 
their  treasures  at  our  feet,  and  we  will  not 
stoop  to  pick  them  up,  because  they  "follow 
not  with  us."  The  fellowship  of  the  saints  is 
larger  than  either  our  experience  or  our  imag- 
ination  of  it.  That  fellowship  knows  no  de- 
nomination: it  includes  all  v^ho  aspire  to 
apprehend  the  breadth  and  length  and  height 


laa 


XTbe  Dipine  Durdutt 


and  depth,  and  to  know  the  love  of  Christ 
which  passeth  knowledge.     Every  saint  needs 
every  other,  needs  especially  to  supplement 
his  own  experience  by  experiences  with  which 
he  is  unfamiliar.     His  robust  and  practical 
piety  may  have  to  be  softened  into  gentler 
lines  of  beauty  by  the  unobtrusive  grace  more 
natural,  perhaps,  to  another  Church  than  to  his 
own.     The  saint  who  dreams  away  his  days  in 
devout  contemplation  of  the  things  above  may 
have  to  learn  from  the  saints  of  another  Church 
that  visions  are  for  life,  and  gifts  for  service. 
'  We  are  debtors  unto  all  the  saints,  especially 
unto  those  from  whom  we  differ. 

Each  saint  reflects  the  love  of  God,  as  the 
sparkles  of  sunshine  upon  the  rippling  sea 
reflect  the  brightness  of  the  sun.  Each  dazzling 
wavelet  reflects  his  glory,  but  all  together  do 
not  exhaust  it.  One  saint  hears  God  in  the  whirl- 
wind,  another  in  the  still,  small  voice.  But 
neither  can  say  to  the  other,  "What  need  have 
I  of  thee?"  for  all  have  need  of  the  heavenly 
voice,  and  must  bid  it  welcome,  whether  it 
speak  in  thunder  or  in  silence.  There  are  saints 


vnttb  an  tbe  SafntB  laj 

acknowledged    and    saints   unacknowledged. 
But  since  fellowship  with  them  is  so  vital  to 
the  fulness  of  our  own  life,  shall  we  not  at  least 
—and  that  right  early— enter  into  communion 
with  those  saints  whose  saintship  is  universally 
acknowledged?    Do  we  often  suflfer  our  stifled, 
panting  souls  to  be  revived  by  the  ampler  air 
of  the  evangelists?    Have  we  been  long  enough 
in  fellowship  with  St.  John  to   despise   our 
worldly-mindedness,  and  to  be  overmastered 
by  the  thought  of  the  exceeding  love  of  God? 
As  we  look  across  our  selfish  lives,  can  we 
listen  without  a  stricken  conscience  to  St.  Paul 
as  he  assures  us  that  he  will  glory  in  nothing 
srve  in  the  cress  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ? 
Have  we  learnt  the  terrors  of  the  day  of  the 
Lord  from  fellowship  with  Amos  or  Zephaniah? 
or  from  Hosea  the  majesty  of  love?    Our  lives 
are  so  poor,  because  we  have  so  little  fellow- 
ship with  these  and  other  saints  of  the  new 
covenant,  and  of  the  old. 

Every  Church  has  had  her  saints,  and  every 
epoch.  It  is  for  us  to  let  them  instruct  and 
chasten  us,  counting  nothing  common  or  un- 


tu  tbe  mvinc  tntButt 

clean.    Our  life  will  be  the  richer  when  we 
know  the  story  of  their  struggles,  our  fortitude 
will    be   encouraged   by  the  sight   of  their 
fidelity,  our  wisdom  will  be  matured  by  the 
study  of  their  meditations.    All  the  saints  be- 
long  to  the  whole  Church  of  Christ;  and  that 
man  robs  himself  of  his  inheritance  who  allows 
denominational  jealousies  or  fears  to  govern 
the  range  of  his  sympathies.     The  streets  of 
the  city  of  God  are  exceeding  broad.    On  them 
IS   room    for   the   reconciliation   of    ancient 
enmities.       Roman,     Greek;     Episcopalian, 
Methodist,     Presbyterian;    Rahab,    Babylon; 
Phihstia,  Tyre,  Ethiopia;  Glorious  things  are 
spoken  of  thee,  O  city  of  God! 

Every  hymn-book  is  a  testimony  to  our  in- 
debtedness  to  the  saints.  There  all  little 
rivalries  are  lost.  Hebrew  kings,  German 
reformers,  Roman  Catholic  priests,  Episcc 
palian  bishops.  Methodist  evangelists,  Presby, 
terian  ministers,  have  all  conspired  to  make  us 
their  debtors.  In  their  harmonious  shout  of 
praise  all  petty  discords  die.  As  we  sing  those 
hymns,  we  step  into  that  shining  fellowship 


Mitb  an  tbe  Saints 


125 

from  which  no  power  can  excommunicate  us 
but  our  own  little-mindedness  and  sin.    We  do 
not  pray  to  the  saints,  as  men  once  did;  but  we 
need  them  as  sorely  as  ever,  and  must  learn  of 
them  when  and  where  we  can.     For  they  too 
knew  the  love  of  God;   and  it  was  for  all  the 
samts,  and  therefore    for  us  too,  that  they 
wrought  and  spoke  and  wrote;  for  the  love  of 
God  constrained  them. 


*  *"**  •"«  tbev  were  iwnej." 


1 1 


THE  OPEN  EYE 

Whether  the  open  ejre  be  a  bleMing  or  • 
curse  will  depend  upon  the  world  upon  which 
it  is  tu-Tied.    For  there  are  worlds  and  worlds. 
When  God  looked  upon  the  world  which  He 
had  made,  He  pronounced  it  very  good,  as 
every  man  must,  too,  who  sees  it  as  it  is.    But 
when  man  looks  unon  the  world  which   he 
himself  has  made,  he  turns  his  eyes  away  with 
a  shudder;  if,  that  is,  he  sees  it  as  it  is.    The 
gift  of  sight  is  in  itself  no  boon;  it  is  in  the 
power  of  the  devil  to  bestow.     "In  the  day 
that  ye  eat  thereof— such  was  the  promise  of 
the  serpent— "then  your  eyes  shall  be  opened." 
And  he  kept  his  word;  for  their  eyes  "were 
opened,  and  they  knew  that  they  were  naked." 
Their   eyes   were   opened   upon    their    own 
nakedness,  shame,  confusion,  ruin. 

The  ambition  to  "see  life"  may  be  a  noble 
one  if  cherished  by  a  pure  heart,  honestly 
eager  to  learn  the  wonders  and  the  ways  of 

129 


I'l 


13© 


Ube  Wivinc  pursuit 


God,  or  to  know  the  mind  and  manners  of 
men,  that,  so  far  as  in  it  lies,  it  may  refine 
that  mind  and  purify  those  manners.  But 
that  same  ambition  has  cost  many  a  man  his 
soul.  There  are  men  who  think  that  to  see 
life  is  to  see  sin,  to  come  under  the  spell  of  the 
world's  tawdry  and  evil  splendor.  The  foul 
image  of  a  poem,  or  the  idle  word  of  a  friend 
who  has  just  come  from  hell,  reveals  to  us  how 
blind  we  have  been  in  the  calm  of  our  own 
domestic  or  social  circle,  and  flashes  upon  us 
that  great  world  of  red  passion,  red  not  with 
the  glow  of  health,  but  with  the  flare  of  the 
pit.  A  world  of  whose  existence  we  had  hardly 
dreamt,  stands  before  us  in  all  its  baleful 
charm:  in  guilty  delight  we  tremble  as  we 
gaze.  We  have  sought  knowledge  and  found 
it,  and  with  it  have  found  sure  increase  of  sor- 
row. For,  as  our  eyes  are  opened  upon  fasci- 
nating yet  hideous  possibilities,  the  peace  and 
the  purity  which  the  children  know  take  wings. 
We  are  left  forever  with  tainted  hearts  and 
corrupted  imaginations,  and  we  curse  the  vi- 
sion which  blasted  our  faith  in  woman  and  in 


^be  ©pen  Esc  ,3^ 

man.  Our  eyes  have  been  opened,  but  the 
sight  has  cost  us  dear.  The  eyes  which  open 
upon  such  a  world  close  upon  one  of  infinitely 
greater  moment,  open  upon  hell  to  close  upon 
heaven  and  God. 

Will  any  man  barter  the  possession  of  a  life 
so  fair  for  the  sight  of  one  so  foul?    Into  life's 
holiest  hours  he  brings  hateful  and  disturbing 
memories;  into  the  brunt  of  its  battle  which 
can  only  be  fought  with  a  heart  of  hope,  he 
carries  crippling  cynicism,  if  not  deadly  re- 
morse.     There  is  much  in  life  on  which  a  man 
must  turn  his  back.     But  if  he  will  see  life,  let 
him  in  fairness  see  the  whole  of  it— not  only 
the  gilded  sin  on  which  he  looks  at  the  peril  of 
his  soul,  but  let  him  look  too  at  the  gracious 
charities  of  the  home,   at  the  uplifting  and 
redeeming  aflfection  of  man  and  maid  for  one 
another,  at  the  unmurmuring  generosity  of 
some  that  are  rich,  at  the  silent  patience  of 
many  that  are  poor,  at  the  heroism  of  needy 
women  and  men  in  fierce  temptation,  at  the 
slow,  sure  triumph  of  the  Spirit  of  Jesus  in 
the  world. 


13' 


Ube  Btvine  putduft 


Naked  and  not  ashamed — that  is  the  deepest 
depth  of  all ;  but  the  quest  of  forbidden  know- 
ledge which  no  pure  man  should  have  or  even 
desire  has  done  something  for  us,  if  it  has 
shown  us  how  naked  we  are.     To  face  the  bril- 
liant sins  of  the  city  and  not  to  feel  the  shame 
of  them,  to  detect  the  subtle  affinity  of  our 
own  hearts  for  evil  and  not  to  recoil  in  horror 
from  the  tragedy  which  has  already  begun, 
is  to  stand  perilously  near  the   edge  of   the 
precipice,  over  which  if  a  man  stumble  he 
may  never  rise  again.      But  once  his    eyes 
have  been  opened,  whether  by  actual  sin  or 
only  by  the  vision   of  it,  to   see  that  he  is 
standing  on  the  edge  of  a  horrible  pit,  into 
which  a  push  from  behind  by  an  evil  spirit, 
clothed,  mayhap,  in  a  garment  of  light,  may  hurl 
him  irretrievably,  he  will,  if  he  be  wise,  leap 
back  with  a  cry  and  a  prayer  to  the  God  of  the 
little  children  that  he  will  not  suffer  his  foot  to 
slide  any  more.     "Their  eyes  were  opened, 
and  they  knew  that  they  were  naked,"  and 
straightway  they  sought  to  cover  their  shame. 
There  is  hope  for  the  man  into  whose  cheek 


Ube  Open  E^e 


133 


it 
7- 

n 

IS 

1- 
le 
ir 
jr 

Q, 
le 
le 
es 
or 
is 
to 
it. 
irl 
ap 
he 
to 
Id. 
ad 
le. 
ek 


the  hot  blush  mounts  when  he  stares  face  to 
face  with  the  sin  which  has  leaped  forth  from 
his  inner  life.    And  the  horrid  sight  will  bless 
him  ere  it  go  if  it  wake,  as  it  can,  within  him 
the  voice  of  conscience.     For  "they  heard  the 
voice  of  the  Lord  God,  walking  in  the  garden" 
—the  very  garden  in  which  the  taste  of  the  for- 
bidden fruit  had  opened  their  eyes  to  their  own 
shame.      That  voice  speaks   in   many  ways, 
through  visions  heavenly  and  visions  diabolic, 
summoning  us  now  by  the  beauty  of  holiness, 
now  by  the  loathsomeness  of  sin.     If  the  sight 
of  our  shame  quicken  conscience,  and  thereby 
lead  to  repentance,  it  will  have  wrought  within 
us  a  good  work,  which  may  in  time  prepare  us 
for  the  beatific  vision. 

No  man  can  at  the  same  time  see  God  and 
the  world,  any  more  than  he  can  serve  them 
both.  He  must  choose.  The  devil  never 
opens  the  eyes  without,  at  the  last,  piercing 
the  heart  through  with  shame  and  sorrow,  slay- 
ing its  hopes,  and  blotting  out  its  heaven. 
But  blessed  is  the  man  whose  eyes  the  Lord 
openeth.    The  vision  of  Jesus  may  at  the  first 


I)       I   ! 
;    i 


i 


I         I    : 


I 


IN 


134 


TCbe  Bivine  pursuit 


strike  us  blind,  as  it  did  Saul  of  Tarsus— blind 
with  sorrow  and  despair.  But  soon  scales  fall 
from  the  eyes  that  have  been  blessed  by  so 
gracious  a  visitation,  and  soon  they  shall  see 
Him  in  His  glory,  willing  and  mighty  to  save. 
To  look  at  Him  with  eyes  that  smile  through 
tears  of  penitence,  humility,  and  love  is  to  be 
sure  of  His  blessing;  for  "Blessed,"  said  he, 
speaking  of  Himself  and  His  work,  "Blessed 
are  the  eyes  which  see  the  things  that  ye  see." 
But  he  only  can  see  Jesus  who  is  intent  on  see- 
ing nothing  else,  he  whose  heart  is  aglow  with 
one  great  pure  purpose,  to  keep  himself  un- 
spotted from  the  world.  Then  allegiance  is 
undivided  and  the  heart  is  undistracted,  and 
the  eye  is  light;  and  the  eye  that  is  light  shall 
see  clearly,  see  through  life  and  death,  time 
and  eternity,  see  man  and  Christ  and  God. 
"Blessed  are  the  pure  in  heart;  for  they  shall 
see  God." 


"Jeeus  stooB  on  tbe  fteacb;  bowbelt 


11  il 


r 


!     ! 


THE  UNKNOWN  JESUS 


Jesus  is  never  far  from  those  who  love  Him; 
and  yet  how  very  far  He  often  seems  to  be! 
When  we  walk  along  perilous  or  sorrowful 
ways,  we  feel  not  always  the  touch  of  His  hand. 
When  the  mists  settle  about  us,  we  see  not 
always  Him  who  is  the  Light  of  all  our  dark- 
ness. Strange  and  sad  it  is,  that  Jesus  the 
Saviour,  Jesus  the  Lover  of  my  soul,  should  be 
near  me,  sharing  and  supporting  my  life,  and 
that  I  should  so  often  think  of  Him  as  far,  far 
away. 

The  pure  in  heart  do  not  always  see  Him. 
Two  friends  walk  by  the  way,  and  hold  sweet, 
sad  converse  together  touching  the  things  that 
pertain  to  the  crucified  Lord  of  Life.  A 
stranger  joins  them,  and  His  words  wake  great 
thoughts  in  their  hearts.  T' e  ^ranger  is 
Jesus,  and  the  men  are  lovers,  aim,   t  worship. 


ers,  of  Him. 


Yet  they  know  not  that  it  is 
«37 


^^'1 


138 


TTbe  iDlvint  pursuit 


iilH 


Jesus  who  has  drawn  near  as  they  commune 
and  question  together:   not  even    when    He 
interprets  to  them,  as  He  alone  could,  the 
things  concerning  Himself:   not   even   when 
they  constrain  Him  to  abide  with  them,  as  the 
day  is  far  spent.    The  Lord  is  in  this  place  and 
they  know  it  not.     Tears  of  sorrow  sometimes 
stand  even  in  eyes  that  are  given  to  watching 
for  their  Lord  and  hide  from  them  the  Saviour, 
whose  gracious  presence  would  have  kept  them 
glad,  had  they  but  looked  on  Him  as  He  stood 
before   them.     On    the  Easter   dawn,  Mary 
beheld  Jesus  standing  and  knew  not  that  it 
was  Jesus.    And,  a  little  while  after,  on  the 
break  of   another   day,  Jesus   stood   on   the 
beach:   and  the  disciples,  who  had  companied 
with  Him  not  one  day,  but  many,  knew  not 
that  it  was  Jesus.     Sunken,  like  Mary,  in  our 
sorrow,  or  like  the  disciples,  in  the  search  for 
our  daily  bread,  or  like  the  sorrowful  two  on 
the  way  to  Emmaus,  in  perplexed  question- 
ings, we  are  met  by  a  figure  which  loves  to 
meet  the  sons  of  grief  and  toil  and   doubt. 
But  we  do  not  see  it;  and  if  we  did,  only  the 


^bc  Tanftnown  Bcerxs 


139 

few  woald  know  that  it  was  Jesus.  So  we 
«.ss  the  fellowship  with  Him,  and  miss  with  it 
the  strength  and  the  great  and  .olemn  joy. 
Never  yet  was  deep  sorrow  or  brave  work  or 
earnest  speech  but  the  unseen  jcsu.  was  stand- 
^ng  by  with  His  gracious  ministry  of  comfort 
and  help  and  light. 

Now  the  secret  of  our  failure  to  recognize 
Jesus  ,s  in  part  this;   we  do  not  know  how 
deeply  He  and  His  are  one.    They  are  in  Him 
and  /fe  ,«  M,;«.     Therefore  it  need  never  be 
hard  and  we  need  never  go  far  to  see  Jesus. 
If  the  Jesus  who  continually  makes  interces- 
SK>n  for  us  hath  passed  through  the  heavens 
this  same  Jesus-for  He  is  not  divided-is  in 
all  H,s  brethren,  even  in  the  least:     Himself 
and  not  another.     Therefore  thou  art  inexcus! 
able,  O  man.  whosoever  thou  art  .hat  judgest 
that  we  must  ascend  into  heaven,  that  is.  to 
bnng  Jesus  down  from  above:   for  He  is  nigh 
thee,  even  in  thine  own  brother.     "I  in  him  - 
Here  is  a  vision  of  Jesus  which  the  blindest 
may  see;  and  the  sight  of  a  brother  lays  upon 
us  the  weightiest  obligation  that  can  lie  upon     . 


140 


Zbt  Divine  putenit 


a  lover  of  Jesus— tn  do  for  him  what  we  would 
do  for  Jesus,     To  be  cruel  or  harsh  or  even 
thoughtless  to  him  is  to  persecute  Jesus.     Saul 
breathed  slaughter  against  the  faithful  in  the 
infant  Church,  and  the  glorious  Jesus  smote 
him  with  the  soul-rending  words  which  startled 
him  into  another  life,  "I  am  Jesus,  whom  thou 
persecutest. "    Jesus  suffers  in  the  sufferings 
of  them  that  are  His.     Let  us  therefore  Uke 
earnest  heed  lest  we  speak  a  bitter  word  of  one 
who  loves  the  Lord,  ordeal  with  him  unki!- dly; 
for  "inasmuch  as  yc  ^id  it  unto  one  of  these 
my  brethren,  even  these  least,  ye  did  it  unto 
Me."    We  see  one  who  looks  like  a  gardener, 
and,  Mary-like,  we  know  not  that  it  is  Jesus. 
We  may  neglect  or  pptronize  him,  as  suits  our 
mood;  but  we  do  not  concern  ourselves  with 
him  as  we  would  with  Jesus.     So  the  vision 
comes  and  goes  without  blessing  us,  because  of 
the  blind  eyes  on  which  it  has  fallen.     In  every 
brother,  be  he  gardener  or  artisan,  we  should 
discover  not  only  an  opportunity  of  service, 
but  a  vision  of  Jesus.     "In  the  midst  of  you 
standeth   one  whom  ye  know  not,"  without 


i  ! 


Zbt  TRnknown  5e0ii«  141 

gift*  of  intellect  or  grace  of  form,  but— mark 
it  well— it  is  Jesus. 

When  the  Lord  seems  far  away,  when  we 
have  no  eyes  for  the  Christ  who  visits  us  in 
every  gracious  thought  and  every  stern  expert- 
ence,  we  shall  not  fail  to  find  Him  among  His 
people.  Two  cannot  talk  in  the  house  or  by 
the  way  about  the  things  of  God,  without 
being  visited  by  Jesus.  Most  of  all  in  the 
house  of  prayer  may  we  look  upon  His  shining 
face.  "For  where  two  or  three  are  gathered 
in  my  name,  there  am  I." 


M  a 


ilih 


"3em»   an»werc6,    'aw  tbett  ■•/.> 
twiw  bOBM  in  tbt  cast •"  ' 


ill 


•[• 


: 


!i 


!  i: 


ilH!! 
Slim 


H 


A  TWELVE  HOURS'  DAY 

What  shall  we  say  to  our  Lord,  when  He 
asks  us,  as  He  asked  of  old,  "Are  there  not 
twelve  hours  in  the  day?"    Shall  those  search- 
ing  words  not  strike  us  dumb,  as  we  think  of 
the  follies  that  fill  most  hours  of  every  day? 
Are  there  twelve  hours  in  any  day,  are  there 
six,  is  there  even  one,  of  brave  work  or  patient 
fidelity,  of  loyal  service  or  strenuous  endeavor, 
of  resolute  purpose  or  honest  battle?    Powers 
seen  and  unseen   conspire  to  rob  us  of   the 
hours  as  they  slip  by,  and  vigilantly  must  we 
buy  them  back  from  the  callousness  and  sloth 
that  would  destroy  us. 

Every  day,  seem  it  long  or  seem  it  short, 
comes  laden  with  its  own  twelve  hours.  How 
often  has  it  to  go  away  again,  weighted  with 
trifles  and  sighs,  instead  of  with  achievement 
that  will  endure,  when  "the  fire  shall  prove 
each  man's  work  of  what  sort  it  is."    Every 

145 


146 


TCbe  Btvtne  purenit 


ilr 


ii  i  HIM 


mil: 


ij 

r ; 

i  ■ 

(-   ; 

1  i 

j 

r 
ij 

} 

i 

living  soul,  however  harassed  by  work  or  aban- 
doned to  indolence,  has  his  twelve  hours  in  the 
day,  none  more,  none  less;  though  in  insight 
into  their  meaning  and  grasp  of  their  possibil- 
ities, man  differs  from  man  as  heaven  from 
hell.     Time  hangs  on  the  hands  of  some.     So 
they  say.    Oh,  mystery  of  mysteries!  that,  in  a 
world  where  there  is  so  much  to  do  and  know 
and  fight  and  conquer,  any  man  should  think 
he  had  time  enough  and  to  spare.    Others  thrill 
on  the  threshold  of  a  new  day,  as  they  that 
look  for  the  salvation  of  God.     They  see  in 
every  hour  a  gift  and  a  call;  a  gift  to  be  used 
for  growth  in  all  that  is  worthy,  a  call  to  pre- 
pare for  the  rest  that  remaineth.     No  man  can 
have  more  time  than  he  needs;  the  longest  life 
is  not  too  long  for  the  solemn  tasks  that  are 
laid  on  every  one.     Nor  is  any  man's  day  too 
short;  has  not  God  put  twelve  hours  into  it? 
and  only  for  those  twelve  hours,  though  indeed 
for  them  all,  will  He  call  him  to  judgment. 

••And  if  indeed  there  be  twelve  whole  hours 
in  the  day,"  says  the  Sluggard,  "may  not  one 
little  hour  be  spared  for  folly?"    Nay,  verily; 


!i 


a  TTwelve  tonxB'  Dag         147 

for  every  hour  has  its  own  claims,  and  will  bless 
us  or  curse  us,  according  as  we  let  it.     The 
hour  gone  is  like  the  word  spoken:  you  cannot 
call  it  back  again.    Twelve  winged  hours  came 
yesterday  from  God,  and  sped  across  our  day, 
and  hasted  back  to  the  God  who  sent  them. 
Would  we  have  blushed  could  we  have  listened 
to  the  tale  they  told  Him?    Did  they  tell  of 
kindnesses  undone,  of  passions  unsubdued,  of 
prayers  unsaid,  of  holiness  unsought?    Or  did 
they  tell  of  temper  sweetened,  and  sins  slain, 
and  graces  won?    Every  day  sliould  build  us 
up,  set  us  higher,  in  faith  or  knowledge  or 
power. 

The  tragedy  of  many  a  life  is  that  time  is 
not  felt  to  be  a  trust;  it  is  not  seen  to  be  the 
stage  on  which  issues  of  eternal  moment  are 
wrought  out.  What  are  we  doing  with  the 
hours  to-day?  They  are  bearing  us  inexorably 
on  nearer  to  the  night,  when  no  man  can 
work;  are  they  bringing  us  nearer  to  God 
or  to  the  outer  darkness,  where  there  is 
weeping?  Do  the  days  leave  us  better  or  only 
older?    Are  we  drifting  or  marching?    Are  we 


\. 


148  Ube  S>ii>ine  pnrsntt 

driven  about  by  every  wind  of  indolence  or 
frivolity,  or  are  our  faces  set  steadfastly 
toward  some  good  thing?  Heaven  aids  the 
man  who  listens  to  the  voices  of  eternity  call- 
ing across  the  dull  routine  of  daily  toil.  The 
sun  himself  stands  still  for  all  who  will  nobly 
dare  in  life's  great  battle  for  righteousness  or 
man  or  God.  The  day  will  be  long,  and  the 
sun  will  shine  on  brave  and  weary  warriors 
and  light  them  into  eventide.  In  this  light  of 
God  may  we  all  walk  and  work  and  pray,  not 
now  and  then,  but  the  long  day  through.  For 
are  there  not  twelve  hours  in  the  day?  and 
the  night  is  coming 


if 


'Ube  nigbt  cometb,  wben  no  man  can 
worh.'* 


itM 


Si" 
illH! 

iii: 


illi! 


THE  COMING  NIGHT 

It  was  Jesus  who  assured  us  that  God  was 
the  God  of  the  living,  not  of  the  dead;  yet  it 
was  Jesus  who  told  us  that  the  night  was  coming. 
In  the  glamour  and  fretful  haste  of  the  day 
we  too  often  forget  the  blackness  of  the  night 
into  which  it  is  rushing,  and  thereby  lose  all 
the  directness  and  concentration  of  aim,  which 
would  chase  away  the  terror  of  the  night  when 
it  falls.     And  yet  terror  there  should  be  none ; 
for  in  the  beginning  God  ordained  that  in  every 
night  the  moon  and  the  stars  should  shine,  and 
no  night  can  be  very  dark  into  which  Christ 
the  Light  has  passed.     Yet,  with  all  its  gra- 
cious  possibilities,  it  is  night  that  awaits  us 
The  longest  day  dies  into  night,  and  though 
out  of  the  darkness  a  new  day  will  be  born,  yet 
that  darkness  is  the  grave  of  a  day  that  is 
gone.    Into  the  other  world  Christ  looked  with 
eyes  that  saw  beyond  the  darkness,  yet  He  felt 

151 


IS* 


Zbt  IDivint  pnt0Uit 


ii>;i!! 


I  !:,■ 


the  awful  power  of  the  night  that  was  coming. 
To  Him  the  pathos  of  that  night  was  not  that 
it  was  dark,  nor  that  it  was  long,  nor  yet  that 
it  was  lonely,  hut  that  men  could  do  no  work 
in  it.  Into  that  night  the  workman  cannot 
carry  his  tools,  nor  the  writer  his  pen,  nor  the 
preacher  his  message.  So,  if  we  will  not  spend 
ourselves  while  it  is  day,  we  must  lose  our- 
selves and  vanish  into  the  advancing  night. 

Seeing,  then,  that  the  night  is  coming,  what 
manner  of  persons  ought  we  to  be?  Workers, 
says  Jesus.  It  will  be  a  solemn  thing  to  walk 
through  the  lonely  night;  is  it  any  less  solemn 
a  thing  stand  within  the  sunshine  and  to  feel 
it  slipping  from  us  moment  by  moment  into 
twilight  and  evening?  The  day  is  ours,  but 
not  forever:  *' while  it  is  day  we  must  work; 
the  night  cometh.  * '  That  is  the  logic  of  Jesus. 
The  shortness  of  the  day  and  the  vastness  of 
the  work,  and  the  inexorable  stillness  of  the 
night  strike  us  with  such  a  sense  of  the  frailty 
of  man  and  the  pity  of  things  that  we  might 
well  fold  our  hands  before  the  mystery  of  life 
in  reverent  and  submissive  wonder.     Not  so 


m 


tTbe  Comtng  tifobt 


«S3 

Je.us.  He  will  not  have  u.  fold  our  hands 
but  rather  grasp  our  tools,  whatever  they  be' 
and  work  and  work,  with  the  awe  of  the  com! 
ing  night  upon  us. 

And    what    an    inspiration    may  be   ours' 
Though  this  little  life  is    hedged  about  by 
so  much  pathos,  it  may  yet  be  very  strong 
For  the  work  which   Christ  appeals  to  us  To 
do  ,s  not  left  to  our  single-handed  weakness 
or  t,m,d.ty.     We  are    sustained  by  the   ex- 
ample   and    the    co-operation    of    a     goodly 
fellowship,  the  goodliest  and  mightiest  fellow- 
ship  that  ever  banded  together  to  cheer  a  faint- 
ing soul;  no  less  a  fellowship  than  God  and 
Chnst  and  all  things.     ••Por  my  Father  work- 
eth  even  until  now,"  said  Jesus-no  night  for 
Him-  and  I  work,"  and  "all  things"  said 
His   apostle,    "work    together."      Was    ever 
band  of  workers  like  this:    God.  His  Son,  and 
all   His  universe,    working  forever,  working 
together,  for  good? 

Should  the  thought  of  that  magnificent, 
harmonious  fellowship,  whose  work  is  from 
everlasting   to    everlasting,  marching  trium- 


I 


n 


>54 


Vbe  Vivinc  pnttutt 


phantly  on  througb  the  generations,  not  brace 
the  weakest  will,  strengthen  the  faintest 
heart,  nerve  the  slackest  hands  of  men 
whose  day  at  the  longest  is  short  and  ronnded 
with  a  sleep?  So  Christ's  appeal  is  charged 
with  all  the  forces  of  heaven  and  of  earth, 
when  He  says,  "We" — ^not  I,  as  the  Authorized 
Version  has  it — "we  must  work  the  works  of 
Him  that  sent  me."  We — for  He  is  not 
ashamed  to  call  us  brethren;  and  we,  His 
brethren,  must  work.  The  divine  necessity 
lies  upon  men  whose  hearts  can  be  touched  by 
an  appeal  of  Christ,  and  by  the  weird  power  of 
the  night  that  is  coming  to  bring  to  an  end  all 
the  work  of  the  day,  be  it  never  so  faithful  and 
never  so  earnest.  At  the  close  of  a  life  that 
seemed  baffled,  Jesus  could  say,  "I  glorified 
Thee  on  the  earth,  having  accomplished  the 
work  Thou  hast  given  me  to  do."  And  when 
our  day  is  over  and  the  night  has  fallen  about 
us,  will  the  work  that  was  ours  to  do  be  done? 


"«  «m  come  sown  ttom  6«,pe„... 


THE  DESCENT  OF  JESUS 

Thtre  WM  a  time  when  men  were  ambitloat 
to  scale  the  heavens  They  sought  to  build 
themselves  a  city  and  a  tower  whose  top  would 
reach  the  sky.  But  that  was  when  the  world 
was  youngr.  Flung  from  the  heights,  not  all 
too  high,  which  they  had  won,  they  came  to 
learn  that  if  heaven  and  earth  were  ever  to 
meet,  heaven  must  come  down,  for  earth  could 
not  rise. 

A  traveler  lays  down  his  weary  head  on  a 
pillow  of  stone,  and  heaven  is  far  enough  away. 
Duplicity  and  ambition  have  all  but  broken 
the  wings  on  which  his  soul  might  have  soared 
away.  Yet  heaven  stoops  to  him,  if  he  cannot 
rise  to  her;  and  on  a  ladder  of  sorrow  and 
silence  the  angels  of  God  descend. 

How  men  tremble  with  delight  and  hope 
when  they  see  an  angel  of  God  descending' 
It  IS  so  to-day.  It  was  so  in  the  old  world 
when,  in  the  persons  of  Paul  and  Barnabas 

157  ' 


Hi 


iH 


i' 
.  Ill 


I 


158  Ube  S>it>ine  pursuit 

the  gods  seemed  to  the  men  of  Lystra  to  have 
come  down  in  the  likeness  of  men.  The 
people  were  wrong;  and  yet  were  they  alto- 
gether wrong?  For  it  is  a  godlike  thing  to 
descend;  and  the  angels  of  God— then,  and 
now,  and  evermore — come  down  in  the  like- 
ness of  men.  Nay,  did  not  Jesus  Himself, 
being  in  the  form  of  God,  come  "in  the  like- 
ness of  man','?  History,  so  far  as  it  has  meant 
progress,  has  just  been  the  descent  of  heaven 
upon  the  earth.  If  on  one  side  it  has  been  the 
effort  of  aspiring  man,  on  the  other  it  has  been 
the  grace  of  the  condescending  God.  The 
renovated  world  seemed  to  the  seer  of  Patmos 
to  be  just  the  Holy  City  "coming  down  out  of 
heaven  from  God." 

The  Bible  presents  the  vision  of  a  possible 
ascent  of  man;  it  is  still  more  the  story  of  the 
descent  of  God.  From  the  heights  which  it 
discloses  God  and  His  angels  are  continually 
seen  descending  for  their  beneficent  work, 
now  to  rouse  the  conscience  of  those  who  have 
eaten  of  forbidden  fruit,  now  to  assure  prophet 
or  warrior  of  heavenly  help. 


'59 


Vbe  Bescent  of  jeans 

But  of  .n  the  strange  descents  of  heaven  npon 
-    »^»8»^4*e-«ened  n,en,  surely  none  is  so 
strange  or  so  blessed  as  the  descent  of  Jesus 
Whomay  tellthe  heightsfrom  which  J^Z 
I  «.  come  down  from  heaven. "    That  is  al. 
He  says.     Majestic  silence  no  less  than  majes- 
t.c  speech.    He  came  down  to  a  world  Zn 
by  supersftion  and  speculation,  down  to  men 

out  of  Whom  the  spirit  had  h.-„  crushed  by 
oppression    and   priestcraft,  down    to    "deen 

weariness  and  sated  lust."    And  into  this  cor 

ruphon  and  decay,  heartlessness,  indifference 

*^spa.r  He  brought  life.    The  nobleman  who 

«.do  Jesus  "Come  down  ere  my  child  die  " 

Shut  an  emblem  of  that  ancient  world,  vo/c. 
•ng  her  own  helplessness  to  heal  her  children 
and  uttering  her  great  inarticulate  cry  to  the 
Jesus  who  alone  could  save  her  from  folly 

LlT' "It  """"     Nay.  is  it  not  the  c^o; 
-1  the  nobler  spirits  to-day.  who  look  with  sor 

~w  upon  a  cvilization  that  sends  the  weakest 
Lord   h  fn  ■  "■""■  "  "■*"^°''  ^"'^  ""«"  'he 

^^ihitraLr^oir  ■"'■'"''"'"''-''■ 

ps  tnat  are  hollow,  upon  a  stage  that 


i6o  Ube  mvinc  pursuit 

is  degraded  and  degrading?    Those  who  have 
not  let  Jesus  come  down  into  their  hearts  know 
the  distemper,  but  do  not  rightly  know   its 
cure.     But  surely  the   dumb   voices  of   the 
people,  if  they  could  break  through  their  per- 
plexity and  speak,  would  say,  "Jesus,  come 
down,  ere  we  and  our  children  die. "    Nothing 
but  the  Highest— and  the  Highest  is  Jesus- 
can  save  us.     The  Highest  must  stoop  and  lift 
ns  up  or  we  shall  die.    "Jesus,  come  down." 
But  the  Highest  has  stooped;  stooped  from 
the  heights  to  the   blackest   depths.     Jesus 
descended  fearlessly  into  all  the  experience 
that  has  made  men  bitter  and  revengeful;  into 
poverty,  unpopularity,  defeat,  shame,  death, 
till  He  reached  that  obedience  and  perfection, 
which  can  only  be  learned  by  the  things  which 
men  suffer.     The  seeming  descent  was  but  the 
royal  way  to  heaven.     By  coming  down  Jesus 
redeemed  and  transfigured  our  earthly  life  and 
made  it  possible  for  us  to  find  our  heaven  in 
the  depths  as  well  as  on  the  heights. 

Jesus  came   down;   and  in  any  depths  we 
shall  find  Him.    Our  doubts  He  meets  with 


Ubc  descent  of  Bcsns         i6z 

His  certainties;  our  worldliness  He  rebukes 
with    His    silent   look   of   baffled   love;   our 
despondency  He  casts  out  by  His  revelation  of 
a  love  that  will  not  let  us  go;   our  orphaned 
hearts  He  heals  by  the  visions  of  mansions 
where  those  that  are  lost  to  us  are  gathered 
together.     And  is  all  this  nothing  to  you,  O 
ye  t:.at  pass  by?    He  stooped  to  share  all  that 
vexes  and  tempts  and  hurts  us.    With  such  a 
fellowship  in  the  depths,  who  can  doubt  or 
faint  or  fear  any  more?    He  descended  into 
the  lowest  parts  of  the  earth,  lower  than  any 
other  son  of  man  has  known  or  can  know,  and 
"He  that  descended  is  the  same   also   that 
ascended."    Shall  we,  then,  who  have  had  the 
glory  of  walking  with  Him  in  the  depths,  not 
also  with   Him   "ascend   far  above   all   the 
heavens?" 


"/Doses  said  unto  ao&,  Mbo  am  f 
tbat  1  sboulb  go  nnto  pbaraob?' 


k»» 


111 


WHO  AM  n 

Every  moment  tests.     But  there  come  to 
most  men  supreme  moments,  when  far-reach- 
ing decisions  have  to  be  swiftly  made.     And  it 
is  then,  when  we  are  surprised   by  a  great 
opportunity  which  may  cost   self-denial   and 
tears,  it  is  then  that  we  learn  what  manner  of 
men  we  are: — whether  we  can  bravely  trust 
the  voice  which  calls  us  and  step  out  of  our 
happy  repose  into  a  duty  whose  greatness  ap- 
pals us,  or  whether  we  have  that  more  tragic 
courage  to  brave  the  ruin  which  one  day  is  sure 
to  overwhelm  the  man  who  disobeys  the  heav- 
enly voice  when  it  says,  "Come  now,  and  I 
will  send  thee."     The  sight  of  some  great 
need  which  our  hand  or  our  voice  might  help 
to  redress;  of  some  great  duty  towards  which 
an  unseen  hand  has  been  leading  us,  though 
we  knew  it  not  till  it  was  upon  us ;  the  eager 
voices  calling  from  without,  seconded  by  the 

165 


n 


a 


i66 


Vbe  'Bivinc  pursuit 


almost  irresistible  voice  within ;  these  are  signs 
which  a  sober  man  will  consider  with  trem* 
bling  before  he  disobeys.  For  that  is  God's 
way  of  calling  men. 

Yet  half  in  humility,  half  in  terror,  we  fling 
back  the  unwelcome  obligation  which  has  dis- 
turbed us.  "Who  am  I  that  I  should  go?" 
Nor  need  that  be  an  unworthy  cry.  We  hesi- 
tate, in  part  because  we  are  not  brave  enough 
to  obey,  in  part  also  because  we  are  not  sunken 
enough  to  ignore  or  reject  outright  a  voice 
which  might  be  God's.  A  base  soul  would  not 
care,  would  hear  no  voice,  feel  no  obligation, 
though  it  threw  itself  with  all  its  might  against 
him.  In  the  reluctance  and  the  self -distrust 
there  lie  the  possibilities  of  victory.  In  such  a 
mood  if  a  man  does  not  sink  to  despair,  he 
will  rise  to  indefatigable  effort,  it  may  be  to  a 
magnificent  triumph.  For  the  question  "Who 
am  I?"  betraying  as  it  does  a  consciousness  of 
personal  insufficiency,  may  lead  a  man  to  One 
that  is  higher  than  himself.  He  who  asks  such 
a  question  in  sincerity  has  measured  his  own 
littleness  against  the  tt*.ijesty  of  the  task  which 


Mbo  am  17 


167 


summons  him  and  has  found  himself  wanting. 
No  success  is  possible  unless  to  him  who  feels 
that  in  his  own  strength  it  is  impossible.  It 
is  the  greatest  who  shrink. 

But  humility  must  be  reinforced  by  faith 
and  courage,  or  it  is  not  only  vain,  but  dis- 
astrous.    If  anything  could  be   more  tragic 
than    pride,  it   is   mistaken    humility.     The 
proud    man  injures    himself;    the  victim    of 
an  exaggerated  humility  injures  the  world,  by 
dei)riving  it  of  the  service   he   is  fitted  to 
offer.     He  misses  his  chance  of  laying  a  stone 
in  the  walls  of  the  Eternal  City,  and  lays  up 
for  himself  remorse  and   sorrow.      For  the 
work  which  he  has  neglected  is  not  only  his, 
but  God's.     It  was  his  blessed  privilege  to  be, 
in  some  comer  of  the  universe,  the  represent- 
ative of  the  Most   High  God.     And  he  has 
waived  it  aside,  however  sadly  and  sincerely, 
with  the  words,  '•  Whoara  I?"    But  it  is  through 
the  men  whom  He  enlists  in  His  service  that 
God  works  upon  His  world."    "/  am  come 
down."  He  says  to  Moses,  "to  deliver  them 
out  of  the  hand  of  the  Egyptians."    And  soon 


i68 


Vbe  Vfvfne  pnrsntt 


It  becomes  dear  how  He  delivers.  "Come 
now  therefore,  and  I  will  send  thee  onto 
Pharaoh,  that  thou  mayest  bring  forth  My 
people." 

Then  if  the  work  be  God's,  may  not  the  work- 
man count  upon  His  help?  In  measuring  the 
magnitude  of  his  task,  he  must  not  forget  the 
inexhaustible  resources  from  which  he  can 
draw;  and  with  such  help,  he  need  no  more 
say  to  the  duty  which  importunat-sly  pleads, 
"Who  am  I  that  I  should  go?"  For  that 
would  be  to  forget  and  dishonor  the  God  who 
has  pledged  His  eternal  word,  "Certainly  I 
will  be  with  thee."  Well  might  a  mortal 
tremble  and  refuse,  when  summoned  to  appear 
before  the  terrible  presence  of  Pharaoh ;  but 
not  surely  if  he  knew  that  behind  and  beside 
him  was  God. 

If  you  are  a  brave  and  honest  man,  some- 
where you  are  needed  sorely.  If  you  have  not 
yet  heard  a  call,  one  is  sure  to  come  some  day, 
which  will  test  whether  your  heart  be  cleansed 
of  its  conflicting  purposes.  Then  some  task, 
on  which  perhaps  issues  of  great  moment  may 


VBbo  am  1 1 


169 


depend,  will  be  let  down  to  yon  from  heaven, 
or  will  rise  up  at  your  feet  and  compel  you  to 
face   it.      Hard   it   may   seem,    inflexible  as 
Pharaoh.     You  may  have  to  leave  all  you  love 
and  risk  your  life  for  Jesus'  sake  in  a  foreign 
land.    Or  you  may  have  to  face  the  obloquy  of 
society  or  the  ruin  of  your  popularity  in  de. 
nouncing  some  great  wrong  which  is  eating 
the  heart  out  of  the  body  politic  or  religious. 
Or  you   may   have,  under   circumstances  of 
peculiar  delicacy,  to  offer  a  strong  word  of  ten- 
der warning  to  one  who   is   forgetting  that 
there  is  a  future  and  a  judgment     Or  you 
may  have  to  confront  an  emergency  which  no 
one  knows  of  but  yourself  and  God,  but  which 
puts  to  the  strain  all  the  bravery  and  fidelity 
you  have.    That  is  your  opportunity.     It  is 
also  your  peril.    There  you  prove  yourself  a 
man  or  a  coward:   there  you  launch  on  a  sea 
of  service  or  you  wreck.     "Who  am  I?"  you 
ask.      This  at  the  least:   a  servant  who  has 
heard  clearly  enough  the  call  of  his  Master  to 
go  forth  to  that  very  work,  the  sight  of  which 
makes  your  heart  faint  and  sore.    Your  disci- 


170 


Zbt  9tvine  pntsuit 


pline  has  speciallj  fitted  you  for  it    You  ar* 

not  where  you  are  for  nothing. 

No  one  but  Moms  could  have  faced  Pharaoh; 
for  no  one  was  prepared  and  equipped  as  he. 
Had  he  fallen  before  his  scruple  the  whole 
world  from  that  day  to  this  would  have  been 
the  loser.  He  who  does  not  emerge  from  the 
struggle  with  his  selfishness  and  timidity  a 
victor,  is  a  ruined  and  remorseful  man ;  he  has 
lost  his  chance  of  making  history.  But  against 
any  Pharaoh  the  weakest  may  go  with  con> 
fidence  when  he  sustains  his  heart  by  the  divine 
assurance  "Certainly  I  will  be  with  thee. "  So 
he  will  bless  the  world  and  deliver  his  own  soul. 


tti 


*tt  an»  man  woul^  come  a«et  me,  let 
btm  Dens  btnwelt" 


THE  DENIAL  OF  SELF 

e 

Do  the  great  watchwords  of  the  Christian 
faith  possess  and  compel  men  as  once  they 
did?  The  faith  that  can  remove  mountains  is 
not  ours;  the  charity  which  was  once  the 
greatest  of  the  three  abiding  things,  has  sunk 
to  almsgiving:  the  denial  of  self,  which  is  the 
royal  road  to  the  Kingdom  of  God,  has  become 
the  denial  only  of  certain  things  we  love. 
How  easy  it  is  to  drag  down  the  soaring 
thoughts  of  Jesus,  or  St.  Paul  to  our  meaner 
level,  and  to  empty  noble  words  of  their  ex- 
acting and  divine  demands! 

It  is  a  commonplace  that  the  Christian  must 
deny  himself;  but  it  is  not  a  commonplace  that 
the  Christian  must  deny  himself.  That  which 
he  is  pledged  to  deny  is  himself.  The  thor- 
oughness which  the  gospel  imposes  upon  every 
man  and  in  every  sphere  is  as  obligatory  here 
as  anywhere.    The  denial  of  self  is  apt  to  be 

«73 


\ 


1 74 


TCbe  V>ivinc  pursuit 


translated  into  terms  of  easier  import.    It  is 
not  the  denial  of  certain  pleasures,  nor  even  of 
all,  nor  necessarily  of  any.     It  is  the  denial  of 
the  self  that  lies  behind  all  pleasures  and  pur- 
suits.     It  is  the  deliberate  refusal  to  regard  our 
individual  life  as  a  life  with  interests  of  its 
own,  and  the  seeing  of  it  only  as  an  instru- 
ment of  God  and  a  contribution  to  His  king- 
dom.    It  is  the  seeking  first  and  always  the 
Kingdom,  never  interests  of  our  own,  in  the 
confident  hope  that  all  interests  of  ours  worth 
conserving  will  find  a  place  within  it. 

Self-denial  is  thus  not  doing  without  things, 
nor  reducing  life  to  a  beggarly  minimum.  It 
is  the  unflinching  surrender  of  self  to  the  needs 
of  the  Kingdom  and  the  call  of  Christ;  such  a 
spirit  as  breathed  through  the  intrepid  words 
of  the  apostle:  "I  hold  not  my  life  of  any 
account,  as  dear  unto  myself,  so  that  I  may 
accomplish  my  course,  and  the  ministry  which 
I  received  from  the  Lord  Jesus."  Thus  we 
belittle  this  great  call  of  Christ  to  self-denial 
when  we  interpret  it  merely  as  a  call  to  give 
up  this  or  that.     Doubtless  that  will  be  one  of 


TCbe  9eniil  of  Self  175 

its  great  effects  upon  us;  and  in  that  the  world 
will  find  evidence  that  we  have  been  with 
Jesus.  But  His  call  is  infinitely  more  search- 
ing.  It  pierces  to  the  heart  and  asks  who  has 
been  denied  there-self  or  Jesus?  "If  any 
maa  would  come  after  me,  let  him  deny  him- 
self."  We  cannot  both  follow  Christ  and 
assert  ourselves. 

There,  then,  is  the  secret  of  peace  and  im- 
mortality-to  deal  with  ourselves,  as  the  claims 
and  problems  of  life  arise,  as  if  we  had  no 
interest  to  consider  but  Christ  and  the  King- 
dom.     The  beauty,  the  peace,  the  power  of 
life,  are  withered  by  selfishness;  and  selfish- 
ness, let  us  remember,  is  a  deeper  and  subtler 
thing  than  greed;  it  is  the  fatal  temper  that 
considers  self.     And  this  temper  may  reveal 
itself  as  tragically  in  abstinence  as  in  indulg- 
ence.    For  if  it  be  not  for  Christ  and  the  King- 
dom's  sake  that  we  abstain,  it  is  for  our  own; 
and  that  is  not  the  denial,  but  the  assertion  of 
self.     Time  was  when  men  tormented  them- 
selves, and  lashed  their  poor  bodies,  already 
worn  with  fasting   and    vigils,  till  the  blood 


176 


TCbe  mvinc  pursnit 


came,  thinking  thereby  to  be  doing  God  serv- 
ice.  Is  it  not  sad  to  think  of  so  fierce  an 
earnestness  spent  upon  the  mutilation  of  that 
wondrous  temple  of  the  living  God?  It  was 
indeed,  a  holy  impulse  that  drove  men  thus  to 
mortify  the  flesh ;  holy  but  selfish.  For,  at  the 
heart  of  it,  was  it  not  a  wild  terror  that  the 
soul  that  did  not  scourge  itself  into  agony, 
would  be  lost? 

Both  for  goo4  and  for  evil,  we  do  not  to-day 
know  so  much  of  those  deadly  struggles,  where 
a  man  who  would  win  salvation,  would  wrestle 
with  himself  in  deadliest  grip,  and  resist  even 
unto  blood.  But  we  vex  ourselves  in  subtler 
ways.  We  fret  about  our  scanty  progress,  our 
slender  triumphs,  our  many  defeats,  instead  of 
marching  on  after  Christ  into  that  larger  life 
of  service,  in  which  love  is  all  and  self  is  for- 
gotten.  What  is  all  our  fretting  but  a  more 
exquisite  selfishness?  Care  can  only  be  ban- 
ished, and  completeness  come  into  the  life,  by 
a  divine  forgetfulness  of  self,  and  an  un- 
compromising  surrender  to  Christ,  in  whom 
alone  we  truly  live. 


«be  Benial  ot  Self  ,7, 

But  shall  we  not  then,  asks  some  strong  and 
self-reliant  one,  be  but  phantoms  of  our  real 
selves,  when  we  yield  up,  without  reserve  or 
murmur,  all  that  makes  us  what  we  are?    Is 
that  not  to  shrivel  our  personality?    Shall  we 
not  be  losing  ourselves?    We  speak  sorrowfully 
of  the  sacrifices  to  be  made,  comfort  ourselves 
with  the  hope  of  a  great  reward,  and  resign 
ourselves,  half  regretfully,  to  the  service  which 
almost  seems  to  cost  too  dear.    "We  have  left  all 
and  followed  Thee;  what  then  shall  we  have?" 
Shame  upon  us  that  we  speak  of  resignation- 
we  that  have  been  called  out  of  the  darkness 
and  impotency  of  a  selfish  life  into  the  marvel- 
ous  light  and  power  of  a  higher  service,  that 
ehcits  and  develops  all  that  is  best  in  us  and 
rewards  us  with  fellowships  an  hundred  fold  in 
this  life,  and  in  the  world  to  come  life  ever- 
lasting.    In  this  surrender,  we  lose  nothing- 
nothing  but  our  own  foolish  selves,  which  we 
lose  to  find  again    in  undreamt  plenitude  of 
power.      He  that  so  loses  his  life  finds  it- 
quivering  with  rekindled  inspiration,  purified 
transfigured.     If  any  man  would  follow  Him' 


178 


TCbe  S)iptne  pursnit 


and  set  his  eyes  steadfastly  upon  that  shining 
figure  going  on  before,  he  coUW  ttot  but  forget 
and  deny  himself,  and  count  all  things  but  loss 
if  so  he  might  find  Him. 

Only  the  soul  thatMenies  itself  enjoys  that 
peace  which  passeth  ill  understending.  How 
men  spoil  their  lives  by  their  dainty,  and,  as 
they  deem,  clever  adjustment  of  interests — 
"some  of  self,  and  some  of  Thee!"  If  we 
could  but  learn  to  forget  that  we  have  inter- 
ests of  our  own,  or  rather,  could  believe  in 
our  hearts  that  we  have  no  real  interests  but  in 
doing  tl»  will  of  God,  how  beautiful  a  peace 
might  fill  our  lives!  For  want  of  this  insight, 
Napoleon  spent  his  latter  days  upon  a  lonely 
island,  washed  by  the  pitiless  sea.  When  we 
stand  at  the  parting  of  the  ways,  how  easy  it 
would  be  to  choose,  could  we  but  consider  our- 
selves as  here  only  for  the  Kingdom's  sake ! 
Such  a  single-hearted  soul  would  never  come 
to  cross-ways  in  his  life.  He  could  have  no 
way  which  was  not  Christ's.  His  feet  would 
always  be  on  the  tracks  of  the  Shining  One — 
that  narrow  way,  but  sure,  that  leadeth  on  to 
God  and  immortality. 


'•a  better  countn?,  tbat  is,  a  beapems." 


ANOTHER  COUNTRY 

How  lonely  would  life  be  without  our  dead! 
If  they  could  pass  from  memory  and  imagina- 
tion  as  they  pass  from  sight,  the  fountain  of 
many  an  inspiration  would  dry  up,  and  many  a 
life  would  wither.    Often  in  the  crowd  their 
quiet  faces  look  down  upon  us  in  gentle  pity, 
bidding  us  be  brave  and  worthy  of  the  ever! 
lasting  rest  which  now  is  theirs,  and  in  the 
night  watches,  when  all  is  still,  their  voices 
come  back  upon  us  with  all  the  clearness  of 
life,  yet  with  the  mysterious  power  of  another 
world.    The  living  we  shall  lose,  but  the  dead 
we  have  found,  never  to  lose  again.     Theirs  is 
the  peace  unshaken,  and  the  world  that  stand- 
eth  fast.      In  communion   with   the   blessed 
dead,  we  are  lifted  above  the  cares  and  con- 
fusions of  this  world  into  the  realization  of  our 
citizenship  in  the  Eternal  City.     They  redeem 
life  from  its  littleness  by  shedding  upon  it  the 

lit 


Itt 


TTbe  9fv(ne  pnrsnit 


solemn  glories  of  eternity.  In  their  presence 
all  passion  dies;  in  their  silent  feUowship  our 
hearts  bum  with  holy  yearnings;  in  that  brief 
hour  of  unspeakable  communion  the  world 
passes,  and  we  feel  what  it  is  to  stand  within 
the  halls  of  our  heavenly  home. 

The  worid  passes!    But  not  easily;  for  its 
hold  upon  us  is  firm,  and  it  bears  us  along 
with  it.     Late  and  soon,  it  is  too  much  with 
us;  and  it  is  well  it  is  needful  to  remember 
our  dead.    We  go  forth  to  our  work  until  the 
evening.     Our  hands  are  full  of  toil,  and  our 
hearts  of  care.    The  claims  and  pleasures  of  the 
passmg  day  drain  all  the  energy  and  sympathy 
out  of  us.    We  become  stolidly  content  with 
the  friends  about  us  and  too  easily  forget  those 
who  have  gone  before.     The  dying  request, 
the  passionate  farewell,  the  sunken,  pleading 
eyes  looking  out  already  from  another  worid 
the  low,  broken  words  that  were  all  but  lost 
upon  the  straining  ear;  surely,  surely,  these 
moments  and  memoriot  ^-ould  belong  to  the 
things  that  abide. 
Yet,  ^-s  it  so?    If  it  were  so,  would  men  and 


anotber  Conntry  183 

women  be  as  they  are?    Would  life  be  so  pas. 
sionless,  duty  so  loveless,  hope  so  dead?    We 
have  all  lost,  and  in  the  loss  we  might  all  have 
won.    But  have  we?    We  have  all  links  that 
should  strongly  bind  us  to  the  eternal  world- 
do  we  often  feel  thus  bound  or  drawn  thither? 
Is  it  less  than  tragic-the  ease  with  which  we 
forget  promises  the  most  solemn,  memories  the 
most  sacred,  scenes  the  most  tender?     The 
world  smiles  when  our  heart  is  breaking.    But 
by-and-by  we    smile,    too,    with   the   world 
And  it  is  well:   for  Jesus  came  that  our  joy 
might  be  fuU,  and  that  tears  might  be  dried 
from  the  faces  of  sorrow.    But  is  it  possible 
that  such  an  experience  can  leave  an  earnest 
man  as  it  finds  him?     Can  the  other  worid 
thus  look  in  upon  him  without  touching  him  to 
awe?    And  ought  not  the  awe  which  touched  - 
him  to  haunt  him  forever  tiU  he  penetrates  its 
secrets  for   himself?     The  deep   experiences 
which  might  have  chastened  and  ushered  us 
into  an  ampler  worid  impress  us  too   often 
only  as  the  ship  impresses  the  sea.     Forbid 
O  Lord!  that  we  forget  ' 


MKaOCOW   RISOIUTION  TiST  CHART 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


lit 

u 

■K 

Kl 
U 


12^ 

14.0 


2^ 
2.2 

2.0 
1.8 


S    /APPLIED  IN/MGE    I 

16S3  East  Main  Stra*! 

Rochester,  N«»  York        14609      USA 

(716)  482  -  0300  -  Phone 

(716)  288  -  5989  -  Fa« 


i«4  TTbc  H)ivinc  pursuit 

We  forget,  sometimes,  because  our  natures 
are  shallow  and  all  experiences  that  do  not 
touch  our  skin  are  lost  upon  us.    Sometimes 
because  the  cares  of  the  world  and  the  strug- 
gle  for  wealth  and  the  lusts  of  other  things 
enter  in  and  choke  every  influence  and  memory 
that  would  help  to  redeem  us.    Sometimes  we 
forget  because  we  are  at  no  pains  to  remem- 
ber.     And  this  indifference  costs  us  dear.    We 
lose  thereby  our  sense  of  perspective  in  life, 
thinking  too  highly  of  the  things  that  are  seen 
and  too  littie  of  the  greater  tilings  unseen. 
We  lose  that  other-worldliness  which  imparts 
to  character  a  tender  and  gracious  beauty. 
We  lose  our  familiarity  with  tiie  facts  which 
we  ourselves  shall  have  to  face,  and  for  which 
we  need  to  prepare  in  meditation  and  silence. 
So  we  cannot  live  our  highest  life  without 
our  dead.    The  thought  of  them  will  possess 
us  with  the  conviction  of  eternity  and  home. 
For  here  we  are  sti-angers  and  pilgrims,  and  as 
they  that  shift  their  tents  in  the  wilderness; 
and  we  look  across  the  dream  of  this  life  for  a 
better  country,  that  is,  an  heavenly,  and  for  a 


anotber  Country? 


i8S 


city  which  hath  the  foundations,  whose  builder 
and  maker  is  God,  and  most  of  whose  inhab- 
itants are  those  whom  we  call  the  dead.  Ours 
is  the  shadowland,  not  theirs.  Ours  is  the 
world  that  shall  pass;  but  theirs  abides.  For 
Jesus  is  alive  for  evermore,  and  all  His  people, 
the  living  and  the  dead,  do  live  in  Him. 

Let  us  then  join  the  Church  of  Christ 
throughout  the  world  in  commemorating  the 
dead;  all  whose  wisdom  or  courage  or  faithful- 
ness yet  speaks  to  us  and  blesses  these  our 
earthly  days;  and  not  least  let  us  bear  in  mind 
and  heart  all  with  whom  we  ourselves  ever 
took  sweet  counsel  together,  but  who  are  with 
us  no  more.  Let  us  touch  again  their  vanished 
hands,  and  listen  once  more  to  the  sound  of  the 
voices  that  are  still.  Those  hands  will  not 
only  beckon  us  but  lift  us  above  the  dust  and 
din  into  that  peace  which  no  ambition  mars; 
those  voices  will  be  to  us  as  the  music  of  the 
angels  of  Grod.  Thus  heaven  will  be  near,  and 
life  will  be  great,  and  death  will  take  us  home. 


^f!^ 


44 


ft  tbe  foundations  be  befitrojcb/ 


}  ; 


:>  i 


i 


SHATTERED  FOUNDATIONS 

"If  the  foundations  be  destroyed,  what  can 
the  righteous  do?"     Such  words  rise  too  easily 
to  the  lips  of  men  who  stand  before  the  threat- 
ened  ruin  of  the  faith  they  love.     Strong,  clear 
faith  never  asks  such  a  question;  nor  yet  that 
other  question  which  more  adequately  repre- 
sents  the  Hebrew  words  of  the  Psalm,  "If  the 
foundations  be  destroyed-what  has  the  right- 
eous  done?"  that  is,  what  will  he,  with  all  his 
righteousness,  be  found  to  have  accomplished? 
It  is  not  a  question  which  a  good  man  puts  to 
his  own  heart,  as  he  looks  out  in  despair  upon 
times  full  of  confusion  and  skepticism.     It  is 
the  cowardly  cry  of  men  who  prefer  safety  to 
struggle,  ease  to  strenuousness,  flight  to  oppo- 
sition.      "Flee,"    says   the  coward,   "to    the 
mountain  as  a  bird.     For  see!  the  wicked  are 
bending  the  bow,  they  have  ah-eady  set  their 
arrow  on  the  string,  to  shoot  in  the  dark  at  the 

189 


if 


190 


TTbe  S>it>ine  pursntt 


upright.  If  the  foundations  be  destroyed"— 
this  is  the  crowning  argument  for  flight — 
"what  has  the  righteous  accomplished?  His 
struggle  has  been  in  vain."  The  dangers  and 
the  futility  of  opposition  are  painted  vividly 
enough;  but  they  do  not  terrify  the  imagina- 
tion or  shake  the  faith  of  him  who  puts  his 
trust  in  God.  He  flings  back  the  cowardly 
challenge  with  triumphant  defiance.  "  The 
Lord  is  in  His  holy  temple.  The  Lord— His 
throne  is  in  heaven.  ...  He  will  rain  upon 
the  wicked  coals  of  fire  and  brimstone  .  .  . 
The  upright  shall  behold  His  face." 

Here  is  a  soul  delivered  by  her  clear-sighted 
faith  from  her  wrestlings  with  temptation, 
comforted  by  the  assurance  that,  despite  all 
wrong  and  confusion,  there  is  justice  in 
heaven,  which  will  swoop  down  upon  the  world 
of  wickedness  on  the  wings  of  elemental 
powers ;  and  she  is  strengthened  to  bear  what 
must  be  borne  in  the  sure  hope  that  the  pure 
in  heart  shall  look  upon  the  face  of  God.  What 
is  it  to  such  a  soul  that  earthly  foundations 
seem  to  quaver?    Heaven  standeth  fast  with 


li  1  I 


Sbattcre&  rounCatlona 


191 

its  justice  and  its  God,  whose  eyes  watch  all 
^at  men   do  evermore.      Evil  cannot  touch 
Him  whose  weapons  are  the  elements,  fire  and 
brimstone  and  glowing  wind,  neither  can  it 
touch  those  who  put  their  trust  in  Him     To 
the  counsels  of  cowardice  the  Psalmist  replies 
with  his  answer  of  faith,  "The  Lord  is  in  His 
holy  temple.      The    Lord-His    throne  is  in 
heaven."    What  to  him  were  the  mountains 
who  had  heaven  and  its  Lord  for  his  refuge? 
What  were  bows  bent  by  the  wicked  and  ar- 
rows set  upon  the  string  for  their  cruel  flight 
to  him  on  whose  side  fought  the  God  of  the 
storm?    What  was  the  darkness  that  seemed  to 
shield  schemes  of  wickedness,  to  him  on  whom 
streamed  light  from  God's  own  face?    What 
was  the  seeming  shattering  of  foundations  to 
him  whose  foundation  was  God? 

It  is  an  ancient  struggle  that  of  faith  with 
despair.  But  those  who  have  named  the  name 
of  Chnst  are  bound  by  the  love  they  bear  Him 
to  look  upon  their  victory  as  certain.  How 
foolish  look  the  bows  and  arrows  of  men  when 
matched  against  the  lightning  and  the  thunder- 


193 


TCbe  Divine  pnrBnit 


bolts  of  God!  Good  men  need  never  tremble 
for  the  foundations.  The  only  foundations  for 
which  they  need  greatly  care  are  indestructible, 
sure  and  eternal  as  God.  Once  and  again  has 
it  seemed  as  if  the  faith  which  is  dearer  to 
many  than  life  were  to  be  shivered  by  the 
sharp  swords  of  persecution  or  by  the  deadlier 
assaults  of  speculation.  And  once  and  again 
has  God  shown  Himself  in  His  heaven,  fulfill- 
ing His  word  sometimes  by  fire  and  hail  and 
stormy  wind,  sometimes  by  the  words  of  men 
who  brought  the  world  back  again  to  truth 
and  peace. 

The  foundations  are  laid  deep ;  neither  man 
nor  ■.  '.'il  can  reach  them.  All  that  God  builds 
is  built  upon  a  rock.  Rains  may  fall  and 
floods  may  come  and  winds  may  blow,  but  they 
only  show  how  strong  is  the  house  of  God's 
building.  The  fury  of  hell  will  lash  itself  in 
vain  against  Christ's  Church ;  for  He  built  it 
upon  a  rock.  When  foundations  are  shattered, 
it  is  time  that  they  were  removed ;  for  not  on 
such  can  men  build  for  eternity.  We  with  our 
immortal  souls  must  see  to  it  that  we  build 


Sbattered  /onttDatfoM        193 

tJpon  unassailable  foundations.    And  see!  the 
work  goes  on  apace.    Gaze  long  enough  at  the 
ruins  which  fill  the  world  and  all  but  break  the 
heart  of  Hope  herself;  and  rising  above  them, 
behold!   the  shining  walls  of  the  city  of  God,* 
behold!  the  city,  with  her  bulwarks,  and  her 
people  and  her  King.     It  will  be  time  enough 
for  the  righteous  to  despond  when  the  founda- 
tions  begin  to  tremble.     But  neither  in  tuis 
nor  in  any  other  world  can  such  a  thing  be. 
For  they  are  eternal  as  the  love  of  God,  deep 
and  broad  as  the  grace  of  Christ    When  the 
foundations  seem  to  reel,  it  is  not  they  but  we 
who  are  reeling.    Our  faith  is  not  rooted  and 
grounded,  if  the  tempests  of  social  revolution 
or  the  storms  of  criticism  can  so  lightly  sweep 
it  away.     Do  we  doubt  the  foundations,  and  do 
we  fear  for  the  fate  of  the  righteous?    Then 
men  are  mightier  than  God,  and  God  cannot 
take  care  of  those  who  love  Him,  and  of  the 
cause  that  is  His,  and  He  is  not  the  Father 
Almighty. 

The  foundations  of  the  Christian  faith  are 
buried  deep  in  the  facts  of  history— in  the  im- 


194 


Zbt  9Mnt  twcBuit 


iMii 


morUl  meiMg*  of  the  propbeU,  in  th«  lifo  and 
death  and  returrection  of  onr  Lord,  in  the  rapid 
and  manifest  triumph  of  His  gospel.  The 
voice  of  history,  as  well  as  of  the  Psalmist, 
proclaims  "The  Lord  is  in  His  holy  temple. 
The  Lord— His  throne  is  in  heaven."  And 
Jesus  Christ,  we  believe,  is  sitting  at  His  right 
hand.  Can  then  the  future  be  a  terror  when 
the  past  has  again  and  again  seen  our  faith 
victoriously  meet  shocks  the  most  furious  and 
cruel,  and  wlien  all  power  in  heaven  and  oh 
earth  has  been  given  to  the  Lord  in  whom  we 
trust?  I  believe  and  am  persuaded  that  the 
foundations  shall  abide. 


I!  i 


•  iii 

■  •I    'ill 
Iii   .Ml  ! 


>  (    i 


itii 


**(BoobntB8  Mb  metcp  «b«n  pttr0tie 
me  all  tbe  bays  of  my  Ufc" 


w 


III 
ir 


THE  DIVINE  PURSUIT 

God  is  the  same  forever;  but  that  sameness 
is  neither  monotonous  nor  passionless;  it  is  the 
constancy  of  a  sleepless  enthusiasm  for  men. 
•'Goodness  and  mercy  shall /Krj«^  me,"  says 
the  Psalmist.     God 's  love  is  earnest,  as  earnest 
as  the  deadly   b.utle-hate— for   the    Hebrew 
word  means  that.     He  pursues  us  with  the 
zeal  of  a  foe,  and  the  love  of  a  Father;   pur- 
sues us  "throughout  the  length  of  days"  with 
a  divine  impatience  that  is  never  faint  and 
never  weary.     He  is  not  content  to  follow  us ; 
He  pursues  us,  because  He  means  to  find  us.' 
Behind  the  loneliest  man  is  a  lovely  apparition ; 
nay,  no  apparition,  but  angels  twain,  Goodness' 
and   Mercy,  shielding  and  urging  him   on. 
Will  he  not  turn  round  and  look  at  them?    For 
not  to  smite,  but  to  bless,  are  the  hands  up. 
lifted  behind  him.     Had  the  powers  that  pur- 
sue  us  not  been  goodness  and  mercy,  they 

197 


198 


TTbe  9it>ine  pursuit 


i:'5; 


ilij  - 
il!  : 


,.! 


'    ill 

ill 


would  have  slain  us  long  ago,  as  cumberers  of 
the  ground. 

Every  morning  we  open  our  eyes  upon  a 
world  flooded  with  God's  light  and  laden  with 
His  bounty.  He  pursues  us  through  the 
troublous  cares  of  the  day  into  the  quiet  slum- 
berland,  where  care  is  forgotten;  pursues  us 
week  by  week  through  the  harsh  claims  of  a 
noisy  world  till,  on  His  own  day,  he  sets  our 
feet  within  t|ie  courts  of  His  house  among  the 
great  congregation;  pursues  us  over  lonely 
ways  marked  by  the  graves  of  those  we  love, 
and  up  steep  hills  of  sorrow,  to  the  heights 
where  only  His  pure  breezes  blow,  and  whence 
we  can  see — ^not  very  far  away — the  radiant 
city  that  abideth  and  our  lost  alive  for  ever- 
more. He  has  tracked  us  across  the  desert  of 
the  dying  year,  and  His  gracious  hand  is  now 
upon  us  in  the  glad  Christmas  time.  We  are 
where  we  are  to-day  because  of  the  babe  who 
was  wrapped  in  swaddling  clothes,  and  laid  in 
a  manger. 

Dear  and  fair  had  God's  mercy  been  to  the 
men  of  the  early  times ;  still  more  dear  and 


TCbe  Divtnc  pursuit  199 

still  more  fair  did  He  make  it  in  the  urgency 
of  His  pursuit  of  men.     He  so  loved  the  world 
that  He  sent  goodness  and  mercy  incarnate 
in  His  Son,  who  dwelt  among  us,  and  won  the 
worship  of  all  earnest  hearts,  and  with  gentle 
power  is  drawing  us  to  Himself  to-day,  as  we 
think  of  Bethlehem.     Ke  for  whom  there  was 
no  room  in  the  inn  brought  us  into  a  wide  place: 
into  a  wider  faith  in  the  goodness  and  mercy 
which  pursue  us,  into  a  life  more  abundant  and 
a  fuller  joy.     The  sight  of  Him,  the  words  of 
Him,  lift  us  up  into  quietness  and  confidence  in 
face  of  doubt  and  fear  and  death,  and  fill  the 
unknown  world  beyond  with  glory.    In   Him 
we  have  all  things,  peace,  strength,  heaven, 
fellowship  with  the  saints  on  earth,  and  in 
glory  everlasting;  in  Him  we  see  how  earnest 
is  God's  pursuit  of  us.     But  His  qiest  of  us 
must  be  answered  by  our  quest  of  Him.     "Let 
us  follow  on,"  says  the  prophet  of  God's  love, 
"to  know  the  Lord";  let  us pursue^for  that  is 
the  word  here  too.    Would  we  be  truly  God- 
like we  must  pursue  as  He  pursues,  following 
in  the  footsteps  of  Christ,  till  at  the  last  He 


iJ 


!| 
ill 


aoo 


Ube  S)ivine  pursuit 


sets  us  at  God's  right  hand.  He  in  quest 
of  us  and  we  of  Him,  shall  surely  find  each 
other. 


i  i 


"Isaac  went  out  to  mcMtatc  in  tbe 
flclD  at  tbc  turning  or  tbe  evening." 


;!| 


iil 

'  -  - 

ill 


I  i! 


THE  TURNING  OF  THE  EVENING 

Long  centuries  ago  a  man  "went  out  to  medi- 
tate  in  the  field  at  the  turning  of  the  evening." 
His  heart  was  full  of  thoughts  both  sweet  and 
sad.  His  mother  was  dead,  and  his  bride  was 
coming;  she  was  nearer  than  he  knew.  He 
looked  down  the  long  vista  of  an  untried  ex- 
perience,  and  before  stepping  into  it  he  went 
out  to  meditate. 

Upon  us  has  come  another  evening,  the  even- 
ing  of  the  year's  long  day.     We  stand  within 
Its  swiftlynieepening  shadows,  and  thoughts 
enough  should  possess  our  hearts,  ere  we  trust 
ourselves  to  look  upon  the  dawn  of  a  new  day. 
It  becomes  us,  too,  to  go  out;  out  of  the  glare 
and  babble  within  the  walls,  out  to  the  silence 
and  to  God,  there  and  before  Him  to  meditate. 
The  most  fatally  reckless  thing  that  any  man 
can  do  is  not  to  meditate  at  the  turning  of 
such  an  evening.     For  surely,  and  it  may  be 

ao3 


I 


i 

i 


ao4 


Vbe  Divine  purfluit 


swiftly,  will  descend  ttpon  us  all  another  and  a 
darker  night,  and  then  it  will  be  too  late. 

How  strange  and  lonely  to  watch  the  long 
day  dying,  and  to  look  out  from  the  creeping 
shadows  across  the  way  that  it  has  come!  Oo 
out  by  yourself.  It  is  so  still  that  you  can 
hear  the  echo  of  the  faintest  footfall,  and  the 
sound  of  voices  that  you  thought  were  dead. 
Listen!  and  across  the  quiet  air  will  float 
words  that,  will  startle  you,  your  own  angry 
words  hurled  in  haste,  and  fraught  with  sor- 
row  for  the  hearts  on  which  they  fell.  And 
other  voices  there  are,  vows  that  you  made  in 
the  joy  of  your  heart,  bom  in  enthusiasm,  only 
to  vanish  when  the  love  grew  cold.  How  sad 
and  mocking  are  their  echoes  now!  Yet  other 
voices  break  tb"  stillness — strong,  helpful 
words  of  heaven-sent  friends,  and  of  Holy 
Scripture,  and  gracious  words  of  Jesus  and 
His  earthly  ministers,  spoken  from  week  to 
week  in  love,  that  might  have  blessed  and 
lifted  up  your  life.  They  too  are  forgotten, 
and  the  dim,  confused  echo  comes  back  to 
upbraid  you.    O  Lord!  as  we  listen,  our  hearts 


trbe  ZntninQ  of  tbe  Evening    aos 

accuse  us.  For  the  hasty  word  and  the  broken 
vow,  and  the  neglected  message,  forgive  when 
Thou  hearest  us,  O  Lord! 

The  night  is  growing  darker,  and  we  are 
alone.    Yet  we  feel  that  there  are  presences 
about  us,  some  beautiful  as  the  dawn,  some 
foul  as  hell.     Look!    There,  in  all  their  loveli- 
ness,  stands  many  a  forgotten  blessing.     Long 
ago  they  visited  us  like  angels.    We  prayed  for 
them:  and  when  they  came,  we  thought  we 
must  constrain  them  to  abide  with  us  forever 
—so  dear  were  they.     But  day  by  day  their 
faces  grew  familiar,  and  our  eyes  were  holden 
that  we  saw  no  angel  there.     But  now  these 
angel  faces  shine  through  the  night  upon  us; 
and  we  ask  ourselves  in  sad  wonderment  how 
we  could  have  forgotten  a  vision  so  fair. 

But  let  me  look  again!  Beside  the  disap- 
pointed  angels  stands  a  dark  and  awful  figure, 
and  looks  in  upon  me  with  its  mocking  eyes.' 
Surely  I  have  met  that  face  before,  not  many 
months,  nay,  not  many  days  ago.  Ah  me! 
It  is  myself.  Oh,  the  light  of  red  passion  that 
leaps  from  those  eyes,  and  the  cross  purposes 


•o6 


Vbe  9ivint  pnrtuit 


that  I  know  to  have  darkened  that  heart!  Oh, 
the  cruel,  relentlessness  with  which  I— for  that 
is  I— quenched  the  pleadings  of  the  Spirit,  and 
the  hypocrisy  of  that  smile,  which  the  world 
mistook  for  kindness.  And  now  dost  thou 
come  in  the  dark  to  torment  me?  Oh,  save 
me  from  myself,  good  Lord!  if  that  be  verily 
myself.    Save  me,  for  Jesus'  sake. 

For  there,  beside  that  guilty  thing  from 
which  I  shrink  in  terror,  stands  Jesus  as  He 
has  often  stood  before.  Yes,  often  He  came  in 
the  bright  hours  of  the  day.  But  I  was  st  ^g 
and  careless;  and  the  sun  was  shining.  Pride 
ruled  my  will,  and  I  did  not  know  how  poor  I 
was  without  Him.  He  came:,  too,  in  my  sor- 
row and  in  His  blessed  sacrament;  but,  when 
sorrow  and  sacrament  were  over,  I  left  Him. 
And,  now  that  I  am  all  alone.  He  is  come  back 
with  those  soft,  kind  eyes  of  His. 

With  Him  all  night  I  mean  to  stay. 
And  wrestle  till  the  break  of  day. 

My  meditation  is  more  sad  than  sweet  as 
there  pass  in  solemn  procession  before  me  the 
wrongs  that  I  have  done,  the  blessings  that  I 


Vbe  Vnrntno  of  tbe  Bv<ntng    ao; 

have  rejected  or  forgotten.  And  I  leave  my 
place  in  tbe  darkneu  with  a  deeper  sense  of 
my  need  of  the  everlasting  God  and  of  the 
Good  Shepherd  of  the  silly  sheep.  I  pray  that 
He  may  purify  me  by  this  vision  of  the  night, 
and  make  me  more  worthy  of  the  virgin  year 
with  which  He  seems  in  His  grace  to  be  about 
to  bless  me.  And  when  for  me  the  last  night 
falls,  may  I  wake  with  Him  on  the  break  of  the 
everlasting  day! 


t   Sv 


aimt0btv  anO  moat  merciful  f stbet, 

WHO  HAIT  OVIOBD  OUR  STSPS  ACKOSS  ANOTHBR 
YtAK,  WB  BOW  BSrORB  ThBB  IN  80LBMN  ORATI- 
TVDB,  AS  WB  CALL  TO  MIMO  ThY  IIANirOLD 
MBBCIB8,  or  WHICH  WB  HAVB  BBBN  10  UN- 
WORTHY. With  pull  rbart  wb  blbsb  Thbb 
POR  all  thb  varibd  disciplinb  by  which  Thou 

i 

HABT  with  PATIBNT  LOVB  BBBN  PREPARING  Ut 
DAY  BV  DAY  POR  ThIMB  EYBRLA8TINO  KINGDOM; 
POR  ANY  JOY  THAT  RENEWBD  'OUR  HOPB  AND 
STRENGTH,  AND  POR  ANY  ORIBP  THAT  HELPED 
US  TO  PEEL  THAT  HBRl  WB  ARE  BUT  PILGRIMS 
AND  STRANGERS.  ThY  GRACIOUS  HAND  HAS 
BEEN  UPON  ALL  OUR  LIPB.  SUREL^  ThOU  HAST 
CROWNED  OUR  YEAR  WITH  ThY  GOODNESS,  AND 
OUR  PRAISE  SHALL  BE  OP  ThEE. 

With  Sorrow  and  penitence  would  we 
conpess  that  our  sin  has  been  ever  bepore 
US.    Our  pebt  have  not  been  swipt  to  run 

IN  THE  WAY     THAT     LEAOETH    UNTO     LIPB:     OUR 

HANDS  HAVE  NOT  BEEN  WILLING  TO  DO  THE  WOKS 

to8 


aimtabtv  fatbet  to9 

WHICH  ThoW  hast  OIVIN  TRIM  TO  DO:  HOR 
HAVl  OVK  HIAKTI  MIN  CLIAMUD  OF  THl» 
IVIL  AND  ICLriBR  PVRP08BS.  HaVI  MTV  UPOM 
V%,    WHOM    THE  YIAM    CAMY     AWAY     AS    WITH 

A  FLOOD.  Have  fity  ufoh  us,  O  Fathee, 
Thou  whose  years  know  no  end,  and  let 
NOT  Thy  kindness  depart  from  us;  for 
IN  humility  and  hope  we  wait  for  Thy 
Salvation. 
Open  our  eyes  to  see  Thy  most  blessed 

WttL,  AND  MAY  WE  FIND  THEREIN  OUR  PEACE. 
As  THE  SHADOWS  OF  THE  DEPARTING  YEAR 
OATHER  ROUND  US,  WE  WOULD  FEEL  THE  COM- 
PORTING     AND     REASSURING      TOUCH     OF      JeSUS* 

HAND.    Through  all  our  ufe  may  He  Lead 

us  STEP  BY  STEP,  TILL  He  BRING  US  AT  THE 
LAST  INTO  THAT  WORLD  WHICH  IS  ALL  LIGHT 
AND  IM    WHICH    IS  NO    DARKNESS  AT  ALL.      PoR 

His  own  name's  sake.    Amen. 


